The Religious Ethic and Mercantile Spirit in Early Modern China 0231553609, 9780231553605

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
Editorial Note
Editor’s Introduction
Author’s Introduction
Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions
1. New Chan (Japanese pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism
2. New Religious Daoism
Part II: New Developments in the Confucian Ethic
3. The Rise of New Confucianism and the Influence of Chan Buddhism
4. Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles”: The “Other World” of New Confucianism
5. “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility”: The Spiritual Temper of Inner-Worldly Engagement
6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility”: The Inner-Worldly Asceticism of New Confucianism
7. Similarities and Differences Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan: The Social Significance of the Division in New Confucianism
Part III: The Spiritual Configuration of Chinese Merchants
8. Ming and Qing Confucians’ View of “Securing a Livelihood”
9. A New Theory of the Four Categories of People: Changes in the Relationship Between Scholars and Merchants
10. Merchants and Confucian Learning
11. The Mercantile Ethic
12. “The Way of Business”
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

THE R E L IGIOU S E T H I C A ND M E RC A NT I L E S P I R I T IN E A R L Y M ODERN C HIN A

YING-SHIH YÜ EDITED BY

H OY T C L E V E L A N D T I L L M A N

T HE R ELIGIOUS E THIC AND

M ERCANTILE S PIRIT

IN

E ARLY M ODERN C HINA

THE R E LIGIOU S E T H I C A ND M E RC A N T I L E S P I R I T IN E A R L Y M ODER N C H INA YING-SHIH YÜ Translated by Yim-tze Kwong Edited by Hoyt Cleveland Tillman

Columbia University Press New York

Columbia University Press wishes to express its appreciation for assistance given by the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange and Council for Cultural Affairs in the publication of this book. This publication was made possible in part by an award from the James P. Geiss and Margaret Y. Hsu Foundation.

Columbia University Press Publishers Since 1893 New York Chichester, West Sussex cup.columbia.edu Copyright © 2021 Columbia University Press All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Yu, Yingshi, author. | Kwong, Charles Yim-tze, 1958- translator. | Tillman, Hoyt Cleveland, editor. Title: The religious ethic and mercantile spirit in early modern China / Ying-shih Yü ; translated by Yim-tze Kwong ; edited by Hoyt Tillman. Other titles: Zhongguo jin shi zong jiao lun li yu shang ren jing shen. English Description: New York : Columbia University Press, [2021] | Original title: Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020033582 (print) | LCCN 2020033583 (ebook) | ISBN 9780231200424 (hardback) | ISBN 9780231200431 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780231553605 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: China—Religion. | Ethics—China. | Business ethics. Classification: LCC BL1803 .Y813 2021 (print) | LCC BL1803 (ebook) | DDC 299.5/1156440903—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020033582 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020033583

Columbia University Press books are printed on permanent and durable acid-free paper. Printed in the United States of America Cover image: Showroom of a Lantern Merchant in Peking, from China in a Series of Views, by George Newenham Wright, Thomas Allom (1804–72) (after), Private Collection, The Stapleton Collection/Bridgeman Images

C ONTENTS

Editorial Note vii Editor’s Introduction xiii

Author’s Introduction

1

PART I: THE INNER-WORLDLY REORIENTATION OF CHINESE RELIGIONS 11 1. New Chan (Japanese pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism 2. New Religious Daoism

15

28

PART II: NEW DEVELOPMENTS IN THE CONFUCIAN ETHIC 47 3. The Rise of New Confucianism and the Influence of Chan Buddhism 49 4. Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles”: The “Other World” of New Confucianism 61

5. “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility”: The Spiritual Temper of Inner-Worldly Engagement 77 6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility”: The Inner-Worldly Asceticism of New Confucianism 89 7. Similarities and Differences Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan: The Social Significance of the Division in New Confucianism 100

PART III: THE SPIRITUAL CONFIGURATION OF CHINESE MERCHANTS 111 8. Ming and Qing Confucians’ View of “Securing a Livelihood”

113

9. A New Theory of the Four Categories of People: Changes in the Relationship Between Scholars and Merchants 124 10. Merchants and Confucian Learning 11. The Mercantile Ethic 168 12. “The Way of Business” Conclusion

200

Notes 207 Bibliography 251 Index 267

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147

E DITORIAL N OTE

L

ong before Professor Ying-shih Yü ։㤡ᱲ became, in 2006, the first Asian historian to receive the Kluge Prize from the Library of Congress, his prolific scholarly publications on China had earned him an international reputation among scholars of China as the leading authority on Chinese history in the West. One example of his uniqueness is that Professor Yü has published so much, howbeit almost all in Chinese, that he has sequentially held professorships at Harvard, Yale and Princeton—without having to maintain a CV or compile a list of his publications—because his colleagues had already read many of his publications. Having noticed the inconvenience of not having such a list of his publications, the editors of the volume celebrating Yü’s retirement in 2001 included a bibliography of his most important publications.1 In 2009, while editing a Festschrift volume for Yü’s eightieth birthday, I was delighted to include National Cheng-Chi University professor Che Xingjian’s (Che Hsing-chien) 䓺㹼‫ ڕ‬more comprehensive bibliography of Yü’s publications: over thirty books, over forty monographs, and over five hundred articles and essays.2 (And Yü has continued to produce both books and articles since then.) After he received that birthday volume, he remarked to me that he had forgotten about a good number of the publications.

My personal and intellectual interests in what became the present book began when I first learned from my mentor that he was researching and writing a book that would not only explore the relevance of Chinese ethics to the mercantile spirit in East Asia but also respond to two of Max Weber’s landmark books, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism and The Religions of China. During my first year as a graduate student at Harvard, even before I began studying with Professor Yü during my second year, I had written a paper for an East Asian sociology class and raised questions about Weber’s characterizations of both Calvinism and East Asian religions. Moreover, my first postgraduate essay published in 1978 was a review article not only praising Thomas Metzger’s Escape from Predicament for drawing attention to Weber’s neglect of the changes in Confucianism, especially since the eleventh century, but also cautioning that Metzger had surely gone too far in his characterization of what he considered to be the foundational shift in Confucian thinking about people’s relationship to the natural world.3 The origins of my interest in the “Protestant ethic” and the origins of economic modernization arose from my family and religious roots growing up in the rural American South in northwest Florida. During my teens I worked in my father’s small electrical shop, where he told me not to focus on making a profit but on doing our best work. He admonished me enough times to imprint his declaration on my ears: “Our duty is to do our best work; whether or not we make any money is in God’s hands.” Although I knew that such instructions did not prevail in American society, I gradually realized how he had inherited such notions from his own father, who had been a businessman in Atlanta before devoting himself to serve as Congregationalist pastor to a circuit of over a dozen small churches in farming communities in an area of northwest Florida and south Alabama. When that church in my small hometown of Crestview did not endure after my grandfather’s retirement and passing, my father joined the Presbyterian Church. John Calvin’s influence remained substantial locally in those two church denominations during that era. Listening to Richard Watson’s sermons expounding Calvin’s theology, I sometimes wondered whether Calvinist principles were reflected in the behavior and practices of other people running local businesses. Gradually in college and graduate school I became aware of the scholarly debates around Weber’s analysis; thus viii

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Editorial Note

the issue remained one thread of my graduate school exploration into China’s history, philosophies, and religions. This thread surfaced most significantly when I translated Huang Jinxing’s 哳䙢㠸 biography of Taiwanese entrepreneur Wu Huoshi (Ho-su) ੣⚛⥵ (1919–1986), for which Huang set the English title, Business as a Vocation, a title that highlighted Weber’s influence on Huang’s understanding of this entrepreneur’s ethics and behavior.4 Appending my own essay to the book, I seized the opportunity to set forth some of my own perspective on the issue of the roots of Chinese merchant ethics. Besides my longstanding interest in the Weberian issue of Chinese merchant ethics, the most immediate inspiration for me to agree to translate Huang’s book from Chinese was my heightened interest in the issue of a Confucian ethic and the mercantile spirit which Professor Yü set forth in the Chinese version of the present book, published in 1987. In addition to reading that book, I was given a copy of Charles Yim-tze Kwong’s 䝪嗁ᆀ draft translation when I was a visiting scholar at Princeton in the spring of 1990. (At that time he was a Ph.D. student at Yale, but he is now a renowned emeritus professor at Lingnan University.) Yü’s book had already presented evidence and arguments to correct not only some of Weber’s assertions but also the excessive counterclaims by scholars (especially Chinese scholars) for the indigenous development of modern capitalism in East Asia. Although profoundly informed by Yü’s research, I sought to offer a further corrective from my own earlier research publications on Chen Liang 䲣Ӟ (1143–1194) and his debate with Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩ (1130–1200). My own emphasis differed from the mainstream focus on Zhu Xi as the most relevant Song Confucian providing the philosophical foundations for economic modernization in East Asia and the miracle economies there. Following Professor Yü’s point that among the crucial contributions of new Confucianism during the Song (960–1279) and Ming (1368–1644) periods were laying the groundwork for new conceptions of self-interest (si ⿱) and the public interest (gong ‫)ޜ‬, profit/utility (li ࡙) and righteousness/integrity (yi 㗙), as well as enhanced respect for, and defense of, merchants, I summarized my argument that Chen Liang was more of an advocate of these ideas than Zhu Xi or other new Confucians during the Song were. I also noted how Chen himself was an example of an educated Confucian on the fringe of the literati class who Editorial Note

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mingled with merchants and married into a family with merchant members; moreover, Chen set forth ideas that were more compatible than Zhu Xi’s philosophy with merchant interests. In Zhu Xi’s exchange of letters debating Chen Liang, Zhu even condemned Chen’s ideas about the moral legitimacy of self-interest and utility/profit. I continued to develop this thesis and expand it into the modern period with essays on the how the intellectual stance of Chen Huanzhang 䲣➕ㄐ (1881– 1933) in China and Shibusawa Eiichi ▰◔῞а (1840–1931) in Japan reflected Chen Liang’s ideas on these terms and issues, which both economic modernizers (and later Wu Huoshi) regarded as crucial to economic modernization in East Asia.5 Translating Huang’s book and Yü’s eulogy for Wu (reprinted therein) also afforded me the opportunity to send, to both scholars, copies of the chapters as I translated them and also my appended essay when I completed it. I enjoyed and benefited from those opportunities. In August 2017 Professor Yü telephoned me to ask if I had the copy of Kwong’s draft translation that I made in 1990, because David Wang had inquired if there were any additional English manuscripts beyond the ones Columbia University Press published in two volumes of Yü’s essays in 2016. Yü said that he could not find his own copy of the draft translation, and neither could anyone else he remembered allowing to copy it. Because I had for years given a lecture on his book in my course on Chinese history, I quickly responded that I could send my copy to him. After receiving and reading through the copy, he asked me to edit it for him. My enthusiasm about the topic and the book, as well as my desire to do something to express my appreciation for his enduring mentorship, was surely evident in my quick acceptance of the challenge. Although the intervention of other projects and obligations delayed our completion of this project, I am grateful that Professor Yü has been so patient and gracious in responding to my questions and the issues that I have raised. In writing the editor’s introduction and this editorial note, I am responding to Professor Yü’s subsequent invitations. He asked me to include a version of the paper that I had originally written for an international conference, sponsored by the Max Weber Foundation and hosted by Peking University’s Institute for the Humanities and Social Sciences in Beijing in 2018, on Chinese receptions of Weber’s works. A revised version of that paper, highlighting some of the significance of x

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Editorial Note

Yü’s response to Weber, was published in a special theme issue of Oriens Extremus in Germany, and a further revised version of that article now serves as the editor’s introduction in this book. Later, in a letter I sent to Yü along with my edited version of parts of the book manuscript, I included a brief explanation of why my own background and intellectual interests contributed to my enthusiasm about helping to make this book accessible to English readers. In our next telephone conversation, he urged me to include an elaboration of my own personal experience and interest in these issues. He graciously insisted that many English readers would find such information interesting, and thus it should be included in the book. Because of my concern to avoid distracting readers from the purpose of the editor’s introduction, I decided to place my secondary remarks in this editorial note. In editing the manuscript, my top priorities were, first, to convey Yü’s content, especially his insights and lines of argument, faithfully and accurately; second, to modify the translation in any way that would enable Yü’s book to communicate most clearly and effectively with a broad audience of English readers. Yü repeatedly expressed his confidence in my understanding of the book and urged me to do whatever I saw as appropriate to facilitate English readers; however, he fortunately also read and made corrections to the translation and my edited manuscript. In addition to changing such small things as word choices, I took other liberties, such as dividing long Chinese paragraphs into shorter ones, simplifying grammar constructions, and transferring some details and Chinese characters from the text to the notes. Many of those notes (especially to some chapters in parts 2 and 3) contain considerable additional cases or examples in support of Yü’s points. Given the good quality of Dr.  Kwong’s translation, I went back to Yu’s book and its quoted passages only when something struck me as unclear and/ or different from my impressions of the Chinese book. The quality of this English version was enhanced because Yü found and corrected errors in both the draft translation and my editing. In short, readers of the original Chinese book will see that this English version does not follow the original text exclusively. Indeed, Professor Yü crossed out some words, sentences, details, and even parts of several passages that he decided either would not be readily understood by most non-Chinese readers or would necessitate too much additional explanation, which Editorial Note

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might clutter the English reader’s focus on the line of argument and its principal evidence. For the same reasons, only in a couple of the notes or within brackets in the text have I drawn attention to the more significant of such changes or omissions from the original book. After all, readers of Chinese can always consult the original Chinese book. What I trust that we now present to English readers is a book that might enhance understanding of Chinese religions, merchant ethics, and ethos through Professor Yü’s profound insights not only into Chinese history but also on Weber’s methods and arguments. For example, as suggested in my introduction, Yü’s Chinese book in the mid-1980s already presented historical data and analysis of issues and points that Weber specialists have in recent years called for scholars to begin addressing. This is a specific example of how Western scholars and the English-reading public might find a wealth of information, insights, and perspectives in Yü’s study now that it is finally available in English. I would like to express my appreciation to several individuals who assisted my efforts in this project. Without Kwong’s good draft translation, it would have been far more difficult for me to complete this project for our professor. Ms. Chen Jingfen 䲣䶌㣜 cheerfully typed Yü’s hardcopy manuscript into digital Word files. Dr.  Zeng Lingyi ᴮ喑ܰ, a researcher at Academia Sinica, tracked down and provided accurate citations for at least six of the book’s Japanese sources that I could not find. Colleagues Huang Chin-shing, Li Jiangnan, Chen Huaiyu, Margaret Tillman, Carter Johnson, and James Foard also provided helpful suggestions or information. Two external reviewers for Columbia University Press not only strongly recommended publication but also helpfully drew my attention to some translated passages and details that needed further attention and improvement. Editors at Columbia University Press, especially Christine Dunbar, Christian Winting, and Anita O’Brien, provided useful advice and instructions. My wife Cristina, as we celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary, continues to sustain my life and joy. Hoyt Cleveland Tillman ⭠⎙ Zhu Zhang Visiting Professor at Hunan University’s Yuelu Academy and Professor Emeritus of Arizona State University Tempe, 2020 xii

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Editorial Note

E DITOR ’ S I NTRODUCTION

SOME SIGNIFICANCE OF YING- SHIH YÜ’S BOOK ON THE RELIGIOUS ETHIC AND MERCAN TILE SPIRIT IN EARLY MODERN CHINA

An “Editorial” in Max Weber Studies (2014) sets forth Thomas Metzger’s criticisms of Weber’s judgment about Confucianism. By highlighting changes in Confucianism during the Song (960–1279) era when Confucians focused on tensions within oneself and with the status quo in the world, Metzger rightly pointed out that Weber had overlooked Confucian developments during the Song period. Metzger even claimed that Confucians sought control of the cosmos. His assertion centered on a quotation from the most influential Song Confucian, Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩ (1130–1200): Even more, the theme of power over the cosmos was clear, at least in Zhu Xi: “Man is the mind of heaven and earth. When man is not present, there is no one to control heaven and earth.” This sense of cosmic power, as already indicated, was connected to the desire for “mastery,” and in Zhu Xi’s thought it was also related to the image of the sage who was not only pure of heart but really does bring political harmony and economic well-being to the empire.1

The original quotation from Zhu Xi (“Ӫ㘵ཙൠѻᗳ˗⋂䙉Ӫᱲˈཙൠ⋂Ӫ ㇑”) was in his comment on the Analects (15.28) of Confucius and would be more aptly translated as “Humans are the mind of heaven and earth; when there are no people, there is no one to be concerned about or to care for heaven and earth.”2 The conference committee’s editorial might have used this published correction of Metzger’s translation and interpretation to counter his critique and to illustrate how easy it is for critics of Weber to twist historical sources in their own efforts to rectify Weber’s understandings of history. However, the editorial articulated a larger purpose. It highlighted the point that for both Weber and his critics, a significant question, which needs to be addressed, is “to what extent these written sources were grounded in the main classes and groups whose collective behavior patterned the course of history.”3 I will demonstrate that Ying-shih Yü (Yu Yingshi ։㤡ᱲ) provides a more convincing account of Zhu Xi’s inner tensions than Metzger did. Furthermore, the primary source materials and observations that Professor Yü provides—as if in anticipation of this challenging question—are among the reasons that discussions of Chinese receptions of Max Weber should not neglect Yü’s monograph Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen ѝ഻䘁цᇇᮉٛ⨶㠷୶Ӫ㋮⾎ (The Religious Ethic and Mercantile Spirit in Early Modern China) (1987).4 (Here, early modern China refers to the middle and especially the late periods of imperial China.) Given Yü’s extensive research and insights, the English version should significantly enrich Western understanding of the enhanced “inner-worldly turn” in Chinese religions and their influence on the spirit and ethic in the society of late imperial China; moreover, his nuanced and multifaceted analytical account should contribute to Western discussions of Chinese religions and comparative studies of religions. Yet Ying-shih Yü’s book has not even been included in the two standard overview articles on the reception of Max Weber in China and Taiwan. For example, in Don S. Zang’s insightful survey, he characterizes the years from 1985 through 1992 as a period during which reading Weber was crucial, especially to Chinese seeking an alternative to Marxism in China’s modernization project, but the years from 1993 to 2013 as a time when “reactionary” interpretation of Weber

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characterized Weber as an Orientalist. Those Chinese who rejected Weber utilized postmodern jargon to criticize Weber; moreover, this tide arose from nationalistic impulses encouraged by the Communist Party. Most significantly, although Su Guoxun’s 㰷഻ऋ work in the first period had been central to the crest of “Weber fever” in the 1980s, Su insisted in the second period on the need to reread Weber from a Chinese perspective; furthermore, he even asserted the reductionist claim that it was impossible for the West to understand Confucianism.5 Cai Bofang 㭑ঊᯩ contextualizes the period before 1980 as preparatory for the Weber fever of the 1980s and points to the role of Weberian studies in the indigenization of the social sciences in the 1980s. Moreover, Cai also contrasts the emphasis on the economic history of capitalism and on the comparative analyses of modernizing culture in the 1980s, on the one hand, to the critical re-evaluations of Weber after the early 1990s, on the other hand. Cai juxtaposes interpretations by sociologists and (mere) translations by historians, such as Kang Le ᓧ′ (1950–2007) and Jian Huimei ㉑ᜐ㖾 in Taiwan. (Yü’s research in the mid-1980s was surely a factor in his former Ph.D. student Kang Le’s decision, as well as that of Kang’s wife Jian Huimei, to focus on greatly expanding the corpus of Weber’s writings available in Chinese translation.) Of special interest, Cai highlights Su Guoxun’s 1980s interest in using Weberian insights to enable Chinese sociologists to correct Marxian deficiencies and to guard against the negative effects of modernization in the West; nevertheless, Su’s publications in 2007 and 2011 criticized Weber’s neglect of the syncretism of Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism. Furthermore, Su charged that Weber’s construction of “ideal types,” based on his contrast between anthropocentric and theocentric religions, started with a flawed methodology.6 Since Su’s later concerns mirror ones articulated in Ying-shih Yü’s 1987 monograph, the work of intellectual historians and scholars of China studies might well not only complement the standard focus on sociologists for interpretative and analytical contributions to understanding Chinese receptions of Weber’s work and methodology but also enhance comparative discussions of possible influence that religions have had on the spirit and ethic of merchants and societies in different cultures.

Editor’s Introduction

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YING- SHIH YÜ ON NEW RELIGIOUS ETHICS AND THE MERCAN TILE SPIRIT IN CHINA

Although Ying-shih Yü is arguably the most highly regarded intellectual historian among China scholars, his name is not a familiar one to non-Chinese readers in the West because almost all of his more than forty books and five hundred articles are available only in Chineselanguage editions. Born in the city of Tianjin in 1930, he came from a scholarly family from Qianshan County ▋ኡ㑓 in rural Anhui. Living there from childhood into his midteens during World War II, he utilized the family’s library to educate himself. With admission into Yenching University in Beijing, he stayed behind in the family’s Shanghai home after his parents fled the advancing Communist army; thus he has said that he was “liberated in Shanghai.” During his first college year in Beijing, he obtained a travel permit to Jiulong ҍ喽, rather than to Hong Kong, for the Chinese New Year; therefore he was able to legally exit the mainland and join his family in Hong Kong. Studying with Qian Mu 䥒ぶ (1895–1990), Yü became the first graduate of New Asia College in 1952. Although admitted to Harvard University’s Ph.D. program, he was initially unable to go to the United States because the Nationalist government in Taiwan classified him as a radical activist and convinced U.S. officials to deny him a visa. Eventually a representative of Yale-in-China helped persuade American officials to issue him a once-only entry document that required annual renewals in the United States. Only after earning his Ph.D. degree at Harvard with Professor Lien-sheng Yang ὺ㚟䲎 (1914–1990) in 1962 and teaching at the University of Michigan before becoming a professor at Harvard in 1966 did he finally cease to be stateless and have the ability to travel abroad with an American passport, even visiting Taiwan for the first time in 1971. Academia Sinica elected him as an Academician in 1974, and he became a chaired professor at Yale in 1977 and at Princeton in 1987. In 2006 he became the first historian of Asia to receive, from the Library of Congress, the John W. Kluge Prize for Lifetime Achievement in the Study of Humanity. The citation proclaimed, “Dr.  Yü’s scholarship has been remarkably deep and widespread. His impact on the study of Chinese history, thought and culture has reached across many disciplines, time periods and issues, examining in a profound way major questions and xvi

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deeper truths about human nature.”7 Among the factors that attracted the Kluge Prize committee’s attention was probably Yü’s role as host at Princeton for refugee intellectuals who fled the crackdown of student protests at Tiananmen Square in Beijing on June 4, 1989. When chosen for the first Tang Prize Laureate in Sinology in 2014, he used the occasion to praise the recent student protest demonstrations in Taiwan and Hong Kong. Even though the Beijing government had long been unreceptive to Professor Yü’s critical scholarship and advocacy of human rights, Beijing further reacted to his comments by banning his publications in the People’s Republic of China (PRC). His “refugee” experience as a “stateless” person for so many years surely not only enhanced his commitments to democracy and human rights but also gave him a profound appreciation for cultural traditions, pluralism, and comparative history. The structure of Ying-shih Yü’s book exploring the influence of China’s new religious ethics on the mercantile spirit in early modern China has three parts: (1) on new Chan ⿚ (Zen in Japanese) Buddhism and new religious Daoism; (2) on new Confucianism; and (3) on merchants and their manifestation of influence from the religious ethics in their personal behavior and business practices. Yü first discusses new Chan Buddhism and new religious Daoism to set the stage for his larger exploration of Confucian ethics in the thinking and business activities of merchants from the sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries. In his exploration of the “inner-worldly” character of Chinese religions, he does not linger on the well-known “this-world” orientation of ancient Confucianism but rather traces the augmented attention to the “innerworldly asceticism” (rushi kuxing ‫ޕ‬ц㤖㹼) that began in new Chan Buddhism, developed in “new Confucianism,” and spread further into society through new Daoist religions. Although he traces these developments during the Tang (618–907), Song, Yuan (1260–1367), and Ming (1368–1644) dynasties and into the Qing (1644–1911), his ultimate, principal focus is how these “Three Teachings” or “religions” in China embraced an ethic that everyone should engage in labor as a crucial component to their personal enlightenment and their duty to society. All three new religions had to overcome traditional elitist biases and moral concerns about working for individual material results. To overcome traditional assumptions and practices, as well as to embrace the Editor’s Introduction

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priority of working for one’s livelihood, required the religious practitioners to resolve tensions within their own minds and often with precepts of earlier forms of their religious tradition. In the longer part III of the book, Yü focuses on the changing social status of merchants, their enhanced self-confidence in their identity and profession as merchants, and their manifestation of the new work ethics in their mercantile activities, especially from 1500 to 1820. Reflections about Weber’s ideas and methods appear quite often implicitly or explicitly throughout the book, but usually to clarify or communicate specific points that Yü is making about Chinese religious ethics and mercantile spirit. The introduction and conclusion highlight aspects he regards as most important about Weber’s insights and methods. I will follow Yü’s narrative structure to set forth his line of argument; moreover, I will devote a separate section to his use of Weber and his differences from Weber. However, I will first summarize Yü’s core thesis and illustrate with brief references to representative samples of his plentiful and crucial documentary evidence. Part I explores new developments first in Buddhism and then in Daoism. Despite Buddhism’s famous world-renouncing character, the new Chan School during the Tang made a breakthrough to embrace the ordinary labor of working people in Chinese society. Huineng ភ㜭 (638–713) broke new ground when he advocated spiritual practice at home, rather than in a monastery, and setting aside words once one grasped the meaning; thus he took a bold step in freeing Buddhism from world-renouncing monasteries and even from sacred sutras. Thus, in a way like Martin Luther and John Calvin, Huineng negated monasticism and saw that even the corrupt world and its trials had a positive role in one’s process of deliverance. Yet instead of the Protestant focus on the individual’s communication with God, Chan Buddhism sought “immanent transcendence” through comprehending one’s original mind. Moreover, whereas Calvin had to address questions of applying his vision and doctrines to everyday life because Christianity had deeply penetrated European society, Chan was not in the late seventh century deeply rooted in quotidian society in China. Hence it took almost a century for Chan to apply its breakthrough to its monastic system and to offer an economic ethic when Baizhang Huaihai Ⲯиᠧ⎧ (749–814) set forth his “monastic rules.” Moreover, Buddhism originally required xviii

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monks to rely on mendicancy, not agricultural labor, to eat. However, after the economic devastation of the An Lushan ᆹ⾯ኡ rebellion (751– 764), patronage from aristocrats and the government plummeted. Consequently, Baizhang instituted the rule of “collective participation” (puqing Პ䃻) in labor, which became a slogan, “one day no work, one day no food.” Baizhang’s rule produced intense tension in the minds of monks because agricultural work occasioned the killing of insects, which was conventionally regarded as bad karma or a sinful act. Baizhang responded that there was no karmic retribution as long as one did not become entangled (i.e., calculatingly engaged) in one’s activity but maintained a transcendent religious perspective. New Daoist religion, especially the Complete Truth sect (Quanzhen jiao ‫ⵏޘ‬ᮉ) that arose in the twelfth century, further developed Baizhang’s emphasis on industry and frugality. According to Yuan Haowen ‫( ୿ྭݳ‬1190–1257), the Complete Truth sect “roots itself in the [Daoist] teachings of profundity and quietude, without such preposterous absurdities as praying in yellow caps to allay sickness and avert misfortunes; it incorporates the practices of Chan Buddhism, without the afflictions of mendicancy and fetters of discipline. Adherents of the sect cultivate the fields and dig wells, and by supporting themselves extend any surplus they have to other people.”8 Moreover, in their inner-worldly asceticism, other early sources show that they engaged in “dusty labor” (da chenlao ᢃລऎ) to support themselves and give the excess to the larger society, all “in the hope of improving social mores.” Because their dusty labor was balanced with “understanding the mind and seeing into the nature,” they could “engage in activity (youwei ᴹ⛪) while preserving the traditional spirit of nonactivity (wuwei ❑⛪).” As Yü observes, this notion is compatible with the Calvinist idea of the “combination of practical sense and cool utilitarianism with other-worldly aims.” Citing this stress on diligent labor in new Daoist asceticism, Yü counters Weber’s claim for the uniqueness of the Puritan ethic of “labor” as a method of ascetic cultivation. Yü even draws the methodological lesson that adequate empirical knowledge is crucial to avoid pitfalls using the “ideal-type” method of research. Returning to his main purpose in discussing new sects of Daoism, he argues that since religious Daoism was originally more inner-worldly than Chan Buddhism, the influence of this Complete Truth sect’s view of work penetrated Chinese society Editor’s Introduction

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more deeply than Chan had. All new Daoist sects were a reaction against the older forms of religious Daoism, which used occult arts to attract patronage from Tang and Song emperors. Moreover, in their widely distributed morality tracts, new Daoist sects also advocated Confucian family and social virtues. Furthermore, the emphasis on the need to confront situations in order to test the mind’s attainments and failings eventually contributed to the notion that traditional Daoist immortals had to descend to the quotidian world to undergo trials and establish their merit. In many such ways, new Daoist sects invested social duty and daily work with religious significance, which suggests some similarity with the Calvinist notion of having a “calling” (tianzhi ཙ㚧) or what Chinese would refer to as “where one’s duty lies” (yi zhi suozai 㗙ѻᡰ൘). Part II explores and analyzes new developments in Confucianism during the Song and Ming dynastic periods. Even though Yü sees the turn to inner-worldly asceticism as going from Chan to Confucianism and then to Daoism, he discusses Daoism before Confucianism in order to culminate his narrative with new developments in Confucianism. Yim-tze Kwong’s 䝪嗁ᆀ original translation in the late 1980s followed a conventional practice of glossing “new Confucianism” ᯠ݂ᆨ as “NeoConfucianism.” Nevertheless, as I reread much of the Chinese text and edited the translation, I became convinced that the conventional gloss detracted from Yü’s highlighting of the evolution from new Chan Buddhism during the Tang to new Confucianism in the Song and new Daoism during the Song and Jin. In addition to Yü’s emphasis on “new” (xin ᯠ) in the significant turn in all three traditions, he distinguishes each of these new traditions from older versions. For instance, besides his focus on how “new Daoist religion” differed fundamentally from the Daoist religion of the late Han that became established and state sponsored especially in the Tang and Northern Song, he is also distinguishing new religious Daoism from what we refer to as “Neo-Daoism,” that is, the philosophy of the “Neo-Daoists” (such as Wang Bi ⦻ᕬ, 226– 249). That difference is so pronounced that one would obviously not gloss “new” Daoism as “Neo-Daoism.” It is also problematic to use the common term “Neo-Confucianism” to gloss Yü’s discussion here of “new Confucianism.” Since various scholars use “Neo-Confucianism” in diverse ways to point to various xx

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divergent circles whose ideas were often opposed to one another, it is worth noting that Yü’s usage of the term explicitly includes not only the School of Principle ⨶ᆨ (culminating in Zhu Xi) and the School of Mind ᗳᆨ (culminating in Wang Yangming ⦻䲭᰾, 1472–1529) but also Wang Anshi’s ⦻ᆹ⸣ (1021–1086) School of New Learning ᯠᆨ, the polymath Su Song’s 㰷丼 (1020–1101) view of learning, and even Chen Liang’s 䲣Ӟ (1143–1194) utilitarian penchant. Thus Yü’s usage of the term includes schools or circles that opposed not only the school of thought directly tied to Zhu Xi but also the one that would culminate in Wang Yangming. His approach is therefore quite distinct from Wingtsit Chan’s 䲣῞ᦧ (1901–1994) narrow focus on the philosophy of Cheng Hao 〻井 (1032–1085), Cheng Yi 〻乔 (1033–1107), and Zhu Xi but is rather closer to the usage claimed by Wm. Theodore de Bary (1919– 2017), who included virtually any and all Confucians from the mid-Tang to the late Qing—regardless of the depth of the differences among these Confucians during those centuries. De Bary regarded NeoConfucianism as broader than the modern Chinese general rubric of lixue ⨶ᆨ, which is already far broader than what Yü and others refer to as the Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi School of Principle (also conventionally called lixue).9 Yü, however, is highlighting what is new in Song Confucianism to distinguish it not only from Tang Confucianism but also from those “conventional Confucians” (shi ru ц݂) in the Song who opposed “Song Confucian” departures from Han and Tang Confucian ideas and priorities. After working through the whole translation and reflecting on these problems, I asked Yü about this issue, and he agreed that “new Confucianism” was the better translation (than Neo-Confucianism) to convey his meaning. He emphasized that the “Neo-Confucianism” label is primarily used to focus on philosophical issues, but he is focused on a different and broader range of thinking and social practices. Nevertheless, I would caution that there is a pitfall with the rubric “new Confucianism” and xin ruxue: modern scholars often use this term with “New” capitalized to refer to the rebirth of Confucian philosophy, since the early twentieth century, especially by such philosophers as Mou Zongsan ⢏ᇇй (1909–1995) in Hong Kong and Taiwan. (Some Confucian philosophers in the PRC refer to themselves as “Contemporary Confucians” (dangdai ruzhe ⮦ԓ݂㘵) to distinguish themselves from Editor’s Introduction

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those “New Confucians.”) Despite all that complexity, I trust that usage in the twentieth century with a capital “N” for New Confucians is distinct enough in its context that it will not impinge on our usage of “new Confucianism” in this book. Indeed, the significance of the evolution from new Chan Buddhism to “new Confucianism” is evident in Yü’s suggestion that this development in China approximately corresponds to Weber’s focus on the reforms that produced the “Protestant ethic.” Yü first explains why there was a significant turn in Confucianism during the late Tang under the influence of Chan Buddhism. As Ouyang Xiu ↀ䲭‫( ؞‬1007–1072) declared in his Xin Tangshu ᯠୀᴨ (New history of the Tang dynasty), Confucianism had historically focused on rites and music, but these had become “empty” or devoid of connections to real life, especially after An Lushan’s rebellion diminished Tang aristocratic families. In response to this crisis, Han Yu’s 七᜸ (768–824) essay on the origins of the Way (Dao 䚃) called for the restoration of vitality to Confucianism so that it could guide social life. Although Han Yu zealously criticized Buddhism for undermining social order by refusing to embrace loyalty to their emperor and fathers, he was himself influenced by Chan to turn away from ritual studies and textual details to develop human ethics for everyday life. Moreover, Han Yu’s focus on self-cultivation of the mind, his insistence on the transmission of the Way from generation to generation, his elevated importance of the role of teachers in transmitting the Way and resolving perplexities, and so on, were all inspired by the Chan transformation of Buddhism. One of the concrete examples that Yü gives for showing the direct inspiration that Confucians received from Chan was Cheng Hao’s observation of ritual propriety and self-cultivation practiced in Chan monasteries. Cheng Hao exclaimed, “The dignity of the [golden age of the] Three Dynasties is all here!” In distinguishing new Confucianism from new Chan Buddhism, Professor Yü elaborates on Song Confucians’ regarding of Heaven’s principles (tianli ཙ⨶), that is, normative patterns/standards, as a kind of transcendent “other world.” What the ancient Confucian this-worldly orientation lacked and needed to develop, in response to Chan Buddhism, was a theory of mind and human nature. This was not achieved until Song Confucians adapted Chan mental discipline and practices to develop a Confucian discipline, likened to “driving with a whip so that xxii

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one may get nearer to the inside” (bianpi jinli ䷝䗏䘁㻿), that enhanced Confucian awareness of inner tensions. From Buddhist imagery of “this shore” (that is, this world) and the “other shore” (other world), Tang and Song Buddhists belittled Confucians for dealing with events but not principles, or function but not substance. In response, Cheng Yi declared that a clear distinction between Confucians and Buddhists was that the Confucian sage regarded Heaven, not the mind, as the basis: “Heaven has true principles. When the sage follows them and acts accordingly, it is the Way. The sages base themselves on Heaven, while the Buddhists base themselves on the mind.” Thus Confucians reaffirmed the objective world and its principles against the Buddhist ultimate preference for the transcendent “other shore,” in contrast to the “emptiness” of this world. Nonetheless, new Confucian contrasting worlds of qi ≓ (vital energy and material objects) and Heaven’s principles were grounded in the struggle to comprehend Heaven’s principles and weed out (excessive) human desires. Zhu Xi articulated this heightened sense of inner tension: People only have Heaven’s principles and human desires. When this one wins, that other one retreats, and when that one wins, this one retreats; there is no possible state of neutrality where there is neither advancing nor retreating. It is like Liu (Bang) and Xiang (Yu) confronting each other between Xingyang and Chenggao, each advancing or retreating one step as the other retreats or advances by the same. The novice must hold his ground firmly and bear up with perseverance. If he can sustain himself through the first moments, he will be able to bear up well in due course. If he does not give way in his mind, there will be a time when he finally prevails. How heroic it is when he does win!

This struggle—explicitly likened to the military struggle between contenders fighting to establish a new dynasty—was intense because the qi and human desires were stronger than Heaven’s principle. Yü further explains how Confucians in the intellectual lineage of Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi developed the Chan emphasis on quietude and activity to push the new inner-worldly spirit to its utmost limit. Whereas the Chan approach still set quietude and activity as moving in opposite Editor’s Introduction

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directions, Confucians transcended this oppositional barrier by setting tranquility and activity in one cooperative direction, bringing Heaven’s principles into one’s inner-worldly management of worldly matters. As Zhu Xi asserted, “Only when one accords with principle while in activity can one rest in quietude when matters are finished. Only if one can preserve oneself while in quietude, will one be forceful in activity.” The key to removing the barrier between transcendent principles of Heaven and this-worldly matters was jing ᮜ, which Sinologists usually gloss as “seriousness,” “reverence,” or “inner mental attentiveness.” Zhu characterized this mental and spiritual discipline: “Jing is not what is referred to as taking a break from everything, but rather is being collected and focused in dealing with matters and being apprehensive and careful without giving free reign to oneself.” Yü thus presents jing as “an inner state of spiritual concentration” that Chinese society would later emphasize as one’s “vocation” (jing ye ᮜᾝ). Thus Yü compares “seriousness in vocation” to one’s “calling” in Calvinism. Although cherishing time and being industrious and thrifty were ancient Confucian virtues, Confucians during the aristocratic era of the Sui and Tang dynasties did not emphasize these virtues, so Song new Confucians were inspired to enhanced moral effort by the discipline displayed by Chan monks. Like a Calvinist’s disdain of “sloth” and “ease,” Zhu Xi admonished his son against indolence and negligence and encouraged him to be persistently studious and “rise early and rest late, and not be unworthy of me.” Moreover, similar to the Chan and Puritan notions of “no work, no food,” Zhu Xi proclaimed, “It is against principle for anyone living in this world to refuse to do any work after eating a meal.” Nonetheless, whereas the basis of Calvinist innerworldly asceticism was accepting God’s command in the hope of gaining eternal life in Heaven, the Cheng-Zhu school’s basis was the Way (Dao) or Heaven’s principles that one must realize while doing one’s work and fulfilling one’s role in society. Since Zhu Xi claimed that this world could be destroyed if people lost all moral principles, one had a moral burden even for the continued existence of the world itself. Thus a person should strive to achieve in this world, for establishing virtue, merit, and words was the way to achieve “immortality.” Along with such comparable points in inner-worldly asceticism, Yü also emphasizes cultural differences between Confucianism and xxiv

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Calvinism. First, he emphasizes that in Confucianism, “The ‘other world’ lies within and not without: one rises to paradise if one feels peaceful in mind and justified in principle; but sinks to hell if one’s mind is not at peace.” Second, another difference was the Puritan notion of “predestination,” which could be seen as projecting worldly success to be an authentication or sign of virtue. This idea was similar to the Chinese idea, “where success is achieved there lies virtue,” which was used to characterize Chen Liang’s Confucian utilitarian orientation. Although Chen’s idea had some influence, Zhu Xi condemned Chen’s view in their debate, and it never eclipsed Zhu’s in the orthodox mainstream. Third, the concept of predestination encouraged some Calvinists to confidently regard themselves as “chosen people” and thus beyond the need for constant vigilance and cultivation of their character. Confucian self-confidence was less elitist in that Confucians perceived themselves as the “early awakened among Heaven’s subjects” with a need for continuous self-cultivation in order to “take the burden of the world upon themselves.” Yü further elaborates on the inner-worldly asceticism of “regarding the world as one’s responsibility.” Zhu Xi praised Fan Zhongyan 㤳Ԣ␩ (989–1052) as a model scholar and official. This eleventh-century scholar-official gained recognition for the spirit expressed in his slogan: “A scholar should be the first to be concerned about the world’s problems and the last to enjoy its pleasures.” Moreover, Yü takes the reverberations of this slogan among Song Confucians—not as an evaluation or description of every Confucian but as a “collective overview” or a “holistic approach,” comparable to Weber’s “ideal type” that also pointed to Calvinists as possessing a sense of immeasurable responsibility. The Song Confucian “rediscovery” of this spirit of responsibility in ancient Confucianism probably was inspired, in part, by the Buddhist ideal of the bodhisattva, which prioritized the salvation of others before one’s own. For instance, Wang Anshi asserted that he served as prime minister because he reflected on the Chan inner-worldly transformation of that ideal, “What has this old chap done for other sentient beings?” Song Confucians extended their sense of responsibility to all people in society, as expressed in Zhang Zai’s ᕥ䔹 (1020–1077) “Western Inscription” (ximing 㾯䣈), “all people are my brothers and sisters.” Moreover, to compete with Chan Buddhism, Confucians had to reach Editor’s Introduction

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out to the masses and give Confucianism greater universal import. In the new Confucian impetus to reconstruct the social order and reform the world, Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi even altered the classic Great Learning phrase, “being affectionate to the people” (qinmin 㿚≁), to read “renewing the people” (xinmin ᯠ≁), to highlight their commitment to reform society. Thus, according to Yü, the new Confucian goal of “assisting the world” was close in spirit to the Calvinist one of reconstructing the “holy community”; however, the specific content of the visions differed. To explore the progressive extension of the new Confucian ethic into society and especially among the merchant class, Yü turns to the transitions from Zhu Xi to Wang Yangming. Although Zhu Xi’s ideal encompassed all of society, his teachings focused on the scholarly elite and the method of studying and fathoming principles (especially in texts), but his contemporary Lu Xiangshan 䲨䊑ኡ (Lu Jiuyuan 䲨ҍ␥, 1139–1193) simplified and redirected his own teachings when he addressed the general population more directly. Lu even criticized Zhu for “pursuing learning without seeing the Way, wasting effort and energy to no purpose,” which reminds Yü of Luther’s concerns about Erasmus. Differences between Zhu and Lu reflected their family backgrounds and social experiences. Instead of coming from a scholarofficial family, Lu was from a family of merchants, and he had worked in their pharmacy for three years. Moreover, this blurring of lines between scholars and merchants increased from the Song to the Ming to the point that the scholar-official Wang Yangming explicitly included even the illiterate firewood vendor in proclamations that everyone had access to an innate knowledge of the good. Thus Wang Yangming, and especially his radical disciples in Zhejiang, consummated the socialization of Confucian teachings among all strata of society, but especially the merchant class. According to Wang, securing a livelihood was a worthy pursuit that did not negatively influence one’s self-cultivation—if personal profit was not one’s top priority. With the proper inner-worldly ascetic, “if you can balance yourself here so that neither your mind nor your body becomes weary, then not even engagement in trade all day long will stand in the way of becoming a sage or a worthy.” In part III Ying-shih Yü explores the development of a new spirit among Chinese merchants. In the first section he focuses on how the

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traditional boundaries between scholars and merchants had become progressively less demarcated since the Song as increasing numbers of scholars arose from merchant families and sought to secure their own livelihoods. As commerce became increasingly prominent, families also encouraged talented sons to enter the commercial realm. By the Yuan period, the prominent Confucian scholar-official Xu Heng 䁡㺑 (1209–1281) accepted “securing a livelihood” as “the first priority” for scholars and their families, a view increasingly embraced by Confucians in the Ming and Qing periods. For instance, Chen Que 䲣⻪ (1607–1677) cited one’s responsibility for taking care of one’s family as the grounds for proclaiming: “Since serving parents above and bringing up children below must not be entrusted to others, the securing of a livelihood with industry and frugality is indeed the primary duty of a scholar. . . . I have taken reading books and securing a livelihood as complementary in the belief that both constitute the primary duties of a person who truly seeks to learn. I even consider securing a livelihood to be more urgent than reading books.” Furthermore, instead of following the penchant, from Zhu Xi to Wang Yangming, regarding Heaven’s principles and human desires as contending opposites, Chen Que boldly announced, “Human desires, so long as they are legitimate and proper, are none other than Heaven’s principle.” Moreover, instead of condemning si (⿱) as selfishness and as the opposite of the public good (gong ‫)ޜ‬, Chen Que presented it as a sense of self and self-interest that was a Confucian value. Chen also proclaimed the fulfillment of self-interest of the individual to be a prerequisite for achieving the common or public good. Chen was not expressing a fringe view because major Qing period thinkers made similar statements. Yü even concludes that such seventeenth-century breakthroughs to embrace the legitimacy of the self-interest and economic protection of individuals “facilitated the Chinese acceptance of the Western concept of ‘rights’ at the end of the Qing dynasty” by Liang Qichao ằ੟䎵 (1873–1929) and others. To show how Confucians projected an equivalence between merchants and scholar-officials, Yü documents examples of Ming and Qing Confucians setting forth a new view of the traditional four categories of people by their occupations. For instance, in a tomb inscription to the merchant Fang Lin ᯩ哏, Wang Yangming wrote in 1525:

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In olden times, the four categories of people were engaged in different occupations but followed the same Dao; they were at one in giving full realization to their minds. Scholars maintained governmental services, farmers provided for subsistence needs, artisans prepared tools and implements, and merchants facilitated commodity flow. Each person chose his vocation according to the inclination of his talent and the level of his capacity, each seeking to give full realization to his mind. Hence, in terms of the final objective of advancing the way of human life, their vocations were the same.

This expression of a new perspective three years before Wang’s death echoed his proclamation (quoted earlier) that even engaging in trade all day was not an obstacle to becoming a sage; moreover, his radical disciples in Zhejiang further emphasized this standpoint. Other sources affirm that ascribing to the Dao a relatively equal status between scholars and merchants was also a social phenomenon. Crucially, merchants themselves by the sixteenth century were confidently asserting their consciousness of equal status with scholars. Social reality also showed general rise of merchant status, especially when one compares the late Ming and Qing situations to that of the Song period. For instance, Yuan Cai’s 㺱䟷 (1140–1195) model precepts for family conduct had dismissed becoming a merchant as a desperate resort, only slightly better than becoming a beggar or a bandit. Although Yü acknowledges that one can ferret out evidence of noteworthy merchants earlier, as well as continuing prejudice against merchants in later centuries, he holds that the historical significance of the increasing emergence of Confucian social views about merchant status is undeniable. The remainder of part III on merchant ethics and spirit will be discussed in the next section as it is most directly linked to Professor Yü’s response to Weber. I will end this section with a brief highlight from his book’s conclusion. Therein Yü credits the merchants’ “amiable and philanthropic spirit” for the Qing government’s relaxing of controls over merchants because the state needed their philanthropic contributions to building or repairing academies, monasteries, temples, roads, and bridges. Such service to society contributed to the “commingling of scholars and merchants” and even to scholars speaking on behalf of xxviii

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merchants’ interests and including quotations from merchants in their writings. Despite the limitations of Weber’s sources on Confucianism and Daoism that constricted his understanding of China’s religions, his questions about possible influence of religious beliefs on merchant ethics and practices “remain extremely meaningful.” Therefore Yü utilizes Weber in his own exploration of the “spiritual resources” of Chinese merchants.

YÜ’S USE OF WEBER’S METHODS AND SOME DIFFERENCES FROM WEBER

In his introduction, Ying-shih Yü remarks that Max Weber’s importance in the social sciences resembles that of Immanuel Kant in the field of philosophy. In contrast to those who impose Karl Marx’s stages of European historical development on China and claim that capitalism is a necessary stage of Chinese historical development, Weberianinfluenced historians do not assume that China had to pass through a capitalist stage of social development but rather explore why the modern Western version of capitalism did not develop in China. Although Weber’s work cannot be reduced to a refutation of Marx, it is generally seen as providing an alternative to Marxian analysis of history. To Yü, the most relevant aspects of Weber’s thesis in The Protestant Ethic are as follows: First, Weber is against any single-cause explanation of history and consequently is out of sympathy with a theory of economic determinism. Second, in exact opposition to the Marxist view of history, which is a most rigid expression of the theory of social evolution, Weber does not subscribe to any theory of social evolution at all. He does not believe in any necessary developmental stage in the unfolding of history; still less, of course, can he accept the fivestage theory upheld by historical materialism. Third, while historical materialism basically holds that political and cultural superstructures are determined by the underlying economic infrastructure, Weber insists that the same underlying basis may result in different superstructures. Furthermore, he clearly maintains

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that cultural factors—such as thought—can propel changes in the economic formation, and herein lies the principal thesis of The Protestant Ethic.

One observes here Yü’s appreciation of Weber as an alternative to historical materialism and determinism. Moreover, although acknowledging that later Marxists have sought to assign a more active function to thought, Yü points out that they could never concede that thought has the degree of influence that Weber argued for in The Protestant Ethic. Just as there are inherent difficulties encountered by those superimposing Marx’s European stages of development onto China’s history, Yü cautioned that there would be similar problems in rigidly applying Weber’s thesis to China. Yü emphasizes that Weber himself recognized cultural and other factors shaping different varieties of capitalism. Most important, Weber specifically distinguished commercial capitalism in traditional societies from the modern bourgeois capitalism that emerged from the Industrial Revolution in areas of Western Europe and North America. Moreover, this new bourgeois capitalism arose not only from economic factors but also from cultural factors, that is, the “Protestant ethic,” which Weber more aptly also labeled an “inner-worldly asceticism.” In addition to such virtues as being industrious, frugal, honest, and faithful, the crucial component was the transcendental and irrational discipline to devote oneself totally to profit making without grasping any of the acquired wealth for personal gratification. Thus this inner-worldly asceticism was a strict discipline, duty, or sacred “calling” that yielded great wealth, which one could only reinvest in productive enterprises and industries. Driven by this sacred calling, the Calvinist sought and implemented the most rational methods to achieve objectives that excluded personal luxury or comfort. Some observers, such as Jin Yaoji 䠁㘰ส and Yu Zongxian Ҿᇇ‫ݸ‬, suggest that East Asian economic development in recent decades shows that Weber’s judgments about Confucianism and Chinese culture need to be fundamentally revised.10 Yü points out, however, that these developments were sustained “by a capitalist mode of operation transplanted from the West, rather than by one indigenously originated.” Although Weber did not have a theory of history applicable to all societies, his perspectives and methodology are useful in research on xxx

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other cultures. Yü highlights aspects of Weber’s points. Weber demonstrates that ideas played a role; yet he does not make an “idealist” claim that the Reformation caused modern capitalism. Instead, Weber perceived three interdependent factors: economic basis, social and political organization, and current religious ideas. The Protestant Ethic queried “the role played by religious concepts in the total process of the qualitative formation and quantitative expansion of the spirit of capitalism.” Weber’s exploration of the transformation of “other-worldly” to “innerworldly” religious orientations inspires Asian scholars because other religions have experienced similar “secularization.” At most, Weberian perspective enables a Chinese historian to ask, “Is there any idea or concept in the ethical-religious tradition of China which shows a certain parallel in function to the notion of predestination, and yet is also fundamentally different from it?” Thus even though the specific content of Weber’s thesis and case studies are “fundamentally irrelevant to Chinese history,” Weberian questions remain relevant. Professor Yü only occasionally and briefly draws attention to Weber’s “highly problematic” judgments about Confucianism and Daoism but rather focuses on the usefulness of Weber’s attention to the influence that religious inner-worldly reorientations could have in the development of a work ethic and spirit of mercantile development. Indeed, Yü states that Weber “is certainly to be exonerated for his misapprehensions, because he was limited by the standard of Western Sinological studies at the time.” For instance, Weber did not perceive Confucian inner tension with the world because the Sinology of his day focused on ancient China and paid scant attention to the transformation of Confucianism during the Song and Ming eras. Thus Weber simply concluded that Confucians innocently believed that human nature tends naturally to goodness, advocated passive adjustment to the world, and accepted this world as the best of all possible worlds. Weber overlooked Confucian recognition of the duty to overcome evil or excessive desires, as well as the duty to do good and remove evil in order to transform this world to accord with Heaven’s principles. Yü’s purpose here is not to criticize Weber but to help clarify the significance of his own emphasis on intense inner tension in Song and Ming Confucians. Moreover, Yü’s exposition of this inner tension and the influence of Chan Buddhism in raising Confucian awareness of tensions within the mind is more Editor’s Introduction

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compelling than Thomas Metzger’s. In addition to highlighting the enhanced sense of responsibility among Song Confucians to reform the human world, he even draws attention to their conviction that extreme human evil could destroy the world; however, he does not repeat Metzger’s overstated claims that Zhu Xi sought to control Heaven and Earth. Thus Yü provides a corrective to both traditional and modern Sinologists about the spiritual tensions within Song Confucians. We have finally reached the point of directly addressing the challenge set forth in the Max Weber Studies “Editorial” in 2014 by the fourmember Conference Publishing Committee for “Max Weber and China: Culture, Law and Capitalism,” led by Professor Ernest Caldwell of SOAS. Referring to key historical writings by thinkers in earlier centuries, Caldwell and his colleagues declare that both defenders and critics of Weber still need to address the fundamental question of “to what extent these written sources were grounded in the main classes and groups whose collective behavior pattered the course of history.” In my introductory paragraph I claimed that Ying-shih Yü’s published work in the mid-1980s remains surely our best example—at least in the case of China—of providing documented evidence and reflections on this issue with which Caldwell challenged the field of Weberian studies in 2014. To illustrate Yü’s contribution, I now turn to the final three sections of part III of his monograph to provide a summary of his array of materials and reflections. In part III of the book, Yü provides diverse accounts of merchants incorporating Confucian learning in their personal lives and business activities. For example, extant commercial handbooks reveal the spectrum of practical knowledge that merchants utilized, especially when traveling on business. Such handbooks, as well as fictional literature, contained popularized Confucian moral thinking. For instance, one sixteenth-century epitaph lauded merchant Zhang Jinsong ᕥ䘁䘱, who “gave up his scholarly career and became a merchant and infused the principles of accumulation with a Confucian flair”; thus the account pointed not merely to Confucian morality but also to rational knowledge for managing personnel. As expressed in a seventeenthcentury epitaph, when Confucian values of wisdom, humaneness, valor, and strength were “applied to commercial activities, the important things were choosing the right people and making good use of xxxii

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opportune  moments to consolidate one’s base and exerting oneself industriously—all of which could only be managed by those who are stepped in learning.” Yü glosses this application of Confucian moral thought to business as “the objective of acquiring riches through the most rational means,” which he notes reflects “instrumental rationality” in Weberian terms. Although more highly educated merchants, such as those from Huizhou, disseminated Zhu Xi’s concepts and rituals within their families, less educated merchants focused on slogans and mottos to inspire their self-cultivation and to guide their application of Confucian principles to the commercial world. The fourth section queries the actual moral praxis of merchants. Especially for early historical periods, there is no way quantitatively to authenticate the moral practice of diverse individuals—a difficulty that he notes applies equally to Weber’s study of the Protestant ethic. Secondary considerations, such as the flourishing of China’s merchant class from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries, indirectly support qualitative examples of an ethic disciplining the behavior of merchants. Being industrious and frugal, which Weber highlighted in the Protestant ethic, were also ancient Confucian values that penetrated deeper into society through the new religions, especially Daoist “engagement in dusty labor” and Confucian injunctions to be industrious, not slothful. Although some sources comment on the extravagance of Huizhou merchants, such lavish spending was concentrated on entertaining officials in order to counter the government’s bias against them vis-à-vis Shanxi merchants. Whereas twentieth-century Chinese and Japanese researchers have affirmed the honesty and trustworthiness of Chinese merchants between the sixteenth and the eighteenth centuries, Weber had complained about “dishonesty” and “mutual distrust” among Chinese merchants and even credited Western influence for the honesty of the Co-hong merchants in nineteenth-century Canton. Professor Yü blames Weber’s misconception of Chinese merchant ethics on his characterization of Chinese people as devoid of a sense of an inward core, or an autonomous value position, because of Chinese lack of faith in any transcendent religious morality. In response, Yü first  expounds on sincerity/honesty (cheng 䃐), trustworthiness (chengxin 䃐ؑ), and nondeception (buqi нⅪ) as major Confucian virtues, especially since the eleventh century. Second, he quotes examples Editor’s Introduction

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of merchants not only manifesting these virtues but also doing so either because of faith in Heaven and Heaven’s principles or out of fear of punishment from Heaven and spirits. The fifth section portrays “the Way of business” (gu dao 䋸䚃), a term used by Ming merchants that involved not only ethics but also “how to employ the most effective methods to achieve the business objective,” which Ying-shih Yü suggests is functionally equivalent to “the process of rationalization” in Weberian terms. Despite not having a concept of a “calling” or “predestination,” some Chinese merchants “manifested a transcendent spirit” and were confident about “the solemn significance and objective value of their vocation.” With enhanced pride in their management of extensive enterprises, historical sources even characterized merchants as having “founded an enterprise and handed down tradition” (chuangye chuitong ࢥᾝ඲㎡), language that had earlier been reserved to describe the founding emperors of imperial dynasties. With their enhanced self-respect and esteem for their work in commerce, merchants increasingly focused on preserving their virtue and good name; moreover, they emphasized being sincere and honest as the way to become wealthy. Their preferred way to develop and expand enterprises was through “partner-assistants” (huoji Չ䀸), where a wealthy merchant provided the capital for junior partners to expand the enterprise and their own expertise. Because these partner-assistants were often poorer members of the clan, this type of organization might remind us of Weber’s contrast between Chinese family-based businesses and the Protestant ethic, which broke the fetters of kinship and separated business from the household. For Weber, cultural emphasis on individual relationships among family or extended clan members inhibited the concept of functional tasks in enterprises. Raising doubts about Weber’s claim, Yü cites Kurt Samuelsson and T. S. Ashton to draw attention to the Darby family’s dominance of the British iron and steel industry during the early eighteenth century.11 As an example of Chinese functional enterprises, Yü also quotes sources relating how Xi Benzhen ᑝᵜ⾾ (1601–1653) could efficiently and effectively use only his written letters to direct his subsidiaries. Although Yü acknowledges that Chinese enterprises did not have modern Western double-entry bookkeeping, he argues that China’s commercial arithmetic was equal to that in the West in the same early modern period. Other aspects of xxxiv

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“rationalization” included implementing maxims, such as “one bit bought, one bit sold” 䋧а࠶ˈ䌓а࠶, that is, “with small unit profit but swift turnover—a principle that is equivalent to what Weber called the ‘principle of low prices and large turnover.’ ” Despite the material success, the extensiveness of the enterprises, and the “rationalization” of the Way of business, what was the principal obstruction preventing Chinese business culture from making a breakthrough into fully modern capitalism during the late Ming to midQing? Although Yü acknowledges how multifaceted this question is, he turns again to Weber to raise a crucial element of the answer: while free commerce could develop in “city-state republics,” bureaucratic systems of absolute monarchies often suppressed commercial freedoms because maintenance of political stability was the priority of such absolutist governments. Therefore Yü is not surprised that in an effort to protect commercial interests, Huizhou merchants spent extravagantly to entertain officials, which Weber and others have simply regarded as rampant waste or corruption. Furthermore, imperial China’s suspicion and exploitation of merchants remained a real and present danger to the full rationalization and development of modern capitalism in China. Unlike Weber, who studied imperial China to highlight why modern capitalism developed only in Western Europe and thus did not pay much attention to developments in the China of his day, Ying-shih Yü is ultimately concerned with developments in contemporary China. Yü completed his book manuscript as an expanded version of what was originally an extensive essay, published in 1986.12 Moreover, he previewed his essay in a special lecture at Taiwan’s Tsinghua University and published it in June  1985 as “Weber’s Perspective and ‘Confucian Ethics,’ an Explanatory Preface” ䷻՟㿰唎㠷Nj݂ᇦٛ⨶njᒿ䃚, primarily to distinguish his inquiry from Weber’s question.13 In The Religion of China, Weber questioned why Western bourgeois capitalism was unable to appear in China, but Yü asserts that it would be more appropriate to pursue inquiries with a grounding in Chinese history. He asks a series of questions: In the successful adoption of Western capitalism in East Asia, are there any cultural factors beyond the economic and  institutional factors? If so, are these cultural factors related to Confucianism? If the answer to this question is also positive, what specific aspects are mutually functional or compatible to economic Editor’s Introduction

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development? Since Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism were interconnected and mutually influenced one another to a degree that is vastly different from the more distinct sects in the West, are “Confucian ethics” purely Confucian, or have they been influenced by the other two religions? Returning later to the basic question, Yü asks, what have Chinese leaders and businesspeople in recent decades relied on to adapt Western capitalism in East Asia so successfully? Is the form of capitalism in East Asia different from Western capitalism? If so, what is the reason? To address such questions, he points out that we first need to achieve greater clarity about traditional Chinese business practices and merchant ethics. In other words, we must first be clear about native commercial traditions before evaluating modern changes under Western influence. In May 1986 Yü inserted another preface before sending in the monograph, published in January  1987; this preface elaborated on the relationship of his work to Weber’s, as well as to trends in China and in Chinese and Japanese scholarship. He also acknowledged that without the extensive historical materials collected by Chinese and Japanese scholars, he would have been unable to complete his monograph; their scholarship, however, generally paid inadequate attention to the selfconsciousness and value consciousness of the merchant class, especially the influence of Confucian ethics and efforts to promote these ethics among merchants. For this aspect, he consulted Weber’s Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. Since he pursued a Weberian inquiry, but without following Weber’s specific questions, Professor Yü sought to clarify his relationship to Weber’s work. He particularly appreciates Weber for not establishing any universal laws for historical societies or a set methodology; moreover, he shares Weber’s opposition to viewing history as having a single cause. He also finds inspiration in Weber’s points that religious ideas can serve as one influence on economic development and that thought in certain circumstances can serve as a catalyst in historical development. Although not the first to use the term “ideal type” (lixiangxing ⨶ᜣ ර), Weber was the one who made it a special method when characterizing the Protestant ethic. As Clifford Geertz pointed out, Weber’s writings are elusive but also contain some things of significance; therefore scholars need to reformulate Weber to use him.14 In addition to its xxxvi

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comparisons of Chinese and Protestant religions, Yü also focuses on The Protestant Ethic because Weber asked why China did not produce Western capitalism. Weber acknowledged Chinese rationalism and that Confucianism was a religion focused on this world; nonetheless, he argued that it differed from Calvinism and thus could not produce the spirit of capitalism. Yü replies that although Weber’s conclusion might be correct, his reasoning was faulty. Here Yü focuses on one key element, namely, the problem arising from Weber’s ideal types. Weber claimed that inner-worldly asceticism was unique to the West and developed to the highest level in Calvinism. Yü notes that Weber’s ideal type was widely criticized in the West by historians, as well as by specialists on religion, economics, and society. He read a spectrum of Weber’s critics and defenders, from Kurt Samuelsson to Gordon Marshall. Although Yü acknowledges that he is not a specialist on Weber or theology, he concludes that Weber had difficulty grasping Calvin’s original doctrines or later Puritan perspectives. Still, he is willing to accept Weber’s point that Calvinism manifested inner-worldly asceticism. What caught Yü’s interest was whether Weber was right in his conclusion that Confucian ethics were quite the opposite of a Calvinist’s; therefore China could not produce the foundation for a similar spirit. According to Yü’s analysis of Weber’s method, we should say that the Chinese religious ethic was largely an inner-worldly asceticism. Yü cautions that he is not claiming that the Chinese ethic and the Protestant ethic are basically the same. Substantial differences exist on various levels. He argues, however, that if one uses Weber’s ideal type methodology, one should conclude that China also possessed inner-worldly asceticism. Compared to the case of China, Calvinist asceticism was even stronger and more distinct, so the Calvinist became the representative or model case. Furthermore, Yü suggests that unless we reformulate Weber’s “ideal type,” we cannot utilize his original concept of innerworldly asceticism as an effective standard to distinguish Confucians and Protestants. Ying-shih Yü affirms that the Chinese religious ethic was an innerworldly asceticism; however, he does not use this to assert that Westernstyle capitalism could have appeared earlier in China. So does his research shake the foundations of Weber’s theory about the Protestant ethic? Not necessarily. Yü proposes two ways of resolving the difficulty Editor’s Introduction

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of Weber’s theory. The first way would be to reconstruct Weber’s “ideal typology,” so that the Protestant ethic’s benefit to the spirt of capitalism would be more highlighted and central in a way that would promote what is unique to the West and absent in China. Alternatively, the second way would be to diminish the explanatory power of thought and acknowledge that inner-worldly asceticism had to be joined with other objective factors before the spirit of capitalism could appear. Weber himself provides support for this second option. Weber’s General Economic History set forth six prerequisites for the establishment of capitalism: a rational accounting system, a free market, rational techniques, reliable laws, free labor, and the commercialization of economic life. Thus Weber did not regard inner-worldly asceticism as the sole and sufficient force to produce the spirit of capitalism. Therefore, with only minor modification, his basic theory would still stand. This alternative would also highlight China’s special cultural characteristics. Although Chinese religious ethic possessed an inner-worldly asceticism and rationalism, such asceticism and rationalism never deeply penetrated the political and legal realm. China never had a reliable legal system, and some scholars regard China’s “nation of officials” as the biggest obstacle to modern capitalism. Thus if we address Weber’s question of what China lacked, we could say it was definitely not an ethic of innerworldly asceticism but rather that China’s government and laws have never undergone the process of rationalization. Thus Yü acknowledges that his answer is a “Weberian” one. Yü cautions that his book is a research study of intellectual and social history, not Weberian historical sociology. Although he acknowledged inspiration from Weber’s Protestant Ethic, Yü was never motivated to set forth any competing model of social development. His goal remains to utilize Weberian concepts to clarify the historical relationship and connecting veins between the redirection of China’s religions and the rise of the merchant class in the early modern period. Therefore he relies on evidence from historical documents, which is a significant difference from The Protestant Ethic. Gordon Marshall, a Weberian specialist, acknowledged that The Protestant Ethic relied on the discussion of theologians and writers but did not utilize the record of a single entrepreneur.15 Thus Yü points out that Weber’s book did not demonstrate how merchants utilized the writings of theologians. This xxxviii

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limitation is adequate for historical sociologists but not for historians. He notes that it is best to use historical documentation to support or to negate a case made about the spirit and ethic of merchants, especially in his own book written from an historian’s perspective. This point about the necessity of historical sources is even truer when one considers differences between Chinese and Western religions. Since doctrine and sects are far more distinct in the West, Weber could rely more heavily on theological writings. For the Chinese case, extensive and careful use of historical sources is imperative. Even though Yü acknowledges that historians sometimes make mistakes reading ancient sources, he pledges to provide historical documentation and evidence for his points. Here again, in his own documentation and his observation about Weber’s lack of evidence from entrepreneurs, we could well say that Professor Yü foreshadowed (or even provided an earlier response to what would become) the fundamental challenge set forth by the editorial in Max Weber Studies in 2014. Succinctly, Ying-shih Yü’s Weberian questions utilized to explore Chinese historical materials are: “Before the importation of modern Western capitalism into China, did the traditional religious ethic exert any influence on indigenously developed commercial activities? And if so, what was the specific import of such influence?” Thus his purpose is not to debate Weber or to disprove dated data and impressions, so he claims that the aim of his “occasional retorts” is to make his own points clearer. Yet, quite significantly, Yü acknowledges that he probably would not have written his own monograph without inspiration from certain of Weber’s pertinent insights. Yü distills Weberian questions to explore changes in religious ethics and merchant culture in imperial China. He plumbs historical sources for the spiritual resources of merchants and changes in business practices, as well as merchants’ attitudes about their status in Chinese society. During the late Ming to the mid-Qing, merchants became increasingly important to the government’s public projects, such as constructing bridges and maintaining roads. Using historical materials, such as merchants’ stories and writings from merchants, Yü documents the development of consciousness and confidence among merchants. Merchants became more self-confident in their status and no longer Editor’s Introduction

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saw themselves as inferior to scholars. Thus he shows how merchant status changed over time and how merchants applied Confucian principles and ethics to the business world—long before the forceful entry of modern Western capitalism into nineteenth-century China. Yet despite considerable parallels in the practices and behavior of Confucian merchants in East Asia and Protestant ones in Western Europe, there remained cultural and doctrinal differences in inner-worldly asceticism between its Confucian and Calvinist varieties. Economic, institutional, and political environments also played a more positive role in the full development of modern capitalism in areas of Western Europe than such factors did in China. Yü, somewhat like Weber, cites such primary factors as the restrictive environment of an imperial bureaucratic system and its obsession with social stability and political order. In short, contrary to what some might imagine, Yü does not disagree with Weber’s point that the unique religious, cultural, social, and political environment of areas of Western Europe facilitated the rise of the spirit of bourgeois capitalism. Moreover, he does not claim that China was developing the spirit or institutions of modern capitalism per se. Yü provides a contemporary demonstration of his analysis of a Confucian ethic in the business world in his eulogy in December 1986 to a Taiwanese entrepreneur, Wu Huoshi (Wu Ho-su) ੣⚛⥵ (1919–1986), founder of the Xinguang ᯠ‫[ ݹ‬Shinkong] conglomerate. In the eulogy one hears echoes of virtues and actions that Yü’s monograph had highlighted and that had considerable parallels with Weber’s discussion of the Protestant ethic and spirit of capitalism. This Weberian tone also implicitly infused Wu’s oral recordings of his life, which Huang Jinxing 哳䙢㠸 fashioned into Wu’s autobiography; therefore Huang changed Wu’s Chinese book title, Banshiji de fendou ॺц㌰Ⲵྞ兕 (Half-century of struggle), into the Weberian English title, Business as a Vocation. Since Professor Yü’s eulogy in Chinese and my English translation are available in print, I will only mention some examples.16 Wu’s selfdiscipline and dedication to his vocation reflected a Confucian scholar’s commitment to learning; moreover, his learning enabled him to be broad-minded and flexible in response to changes in time and circumstances. Wu also extended the harmonious relationships learned within the family to people in society and business. With his business associates and employees, his actions demonstrated Confucian xl

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virtues, such as honesty, wisdom, humaneness, courage, and strength. Once he had secured his family’s livelihood, he turned greater attention to the public good of society. In addition to his philanthropy, he did what he could diplomatically to encourage better international relations for Taiwan. In his enterprises, he strove to enhance efficiency and rational processes; however, he also declared that such modern methods of scientific management needed to be supplemented with Chinese ethical principles and bonds of human feelings. Thus he combined traditional values and religious practices together with the advanced technology and modern business practices from Japan and the West that he introduced into Taiwan. Altogether, the eulogy paints a portrait of a Chinese work ethic and ascetic self-control that rendered Wu a driven workaholic, but one who strove for Confucian harmony and solidarity with employees through the cultivation of human feelings and respect. This eulogy further reinforces the nuance of Professor Yü’s response to, or utilization of, Weber. On the one hand, Weber was an inspiration for Yü’s attention to the issue of the influence of ethics and ideas on mercantile thinking and activity, and Yü remains attentive to similarities or functional equivalences between Confucian and Protestant conceptions of virtues, behaviors, and their application to the mercantile world. Moreover, like Weber, Yü appreciates diverse historical causation or historical contingencies, as well as the uniqueness of the Calvinist worldview and its early role in the development of modern bourgeois capitalism; therefore neither scholar accepted the notion that China required a modern capitalist phase or an imported Protestant ethic. They also realized that once modern capitalism fully developed, it functioned independently of its roots in Protestant Christianity; furthermore, independent modern capitalism’s invasive roots had extended around the world. Thus the presence of capitalist ideas, practices, and customs in East Asia did not require, or totally depend on, indigenous roots. On the other hand, Yü focuses on how reformations within Chinese religions led to new versions of Chan Buddhism, Confucianism, and religious Daoism with enhanced inner-worldly asceticism that set Chinese merchants and business practices to evidence significant parallels to what Weber described as unique to Western Europe and North America. What’s more, these religious and historical changes took Editor’s Introduction

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place in China centuries before modern Western capitalism and imperialism forcefully penetrated China in the nineteenth century. Ying-shih Yü’s monograph on Chinese religions is a Chinese example of mature and nuanced appropriations of Weber. Having explored Weberian scholarship to the point that he could fathom the logic behind its specific examples and the significance of its fundamental questions, Yü could formulate Weber’s work into specific questions that inspired and gave considerable guidance to his own monograph on China. Therefore he could make major breakthroughs in conventional understanding of the reforms in Chinese religions and their impact on changes in the self-image, ethics, and behavior of Chinese merchants in the Ming and Qing periods before the intrusion of Western imperialism. Thus the chief target of Yü’s monograph on the spiritual resources of merchants is not Weber but rather those Chinese Marxists, especially in the 1950s and 1960s, who trumpeted “sprouts of capitalism” during the late Ming to the mid-Qing periods. Not only does Yü focus on the same historical period, he explicitly argues against their penchant to be reductionist regarding historical causation and class strata. This issue within Chinese scholarship elicited his utilization of Weber’s rejection of economic determinism in favor of considering multifaceted, interacting factors to explain historical situations and changes. In other words, we could even say that Weber was to Yü more of a sounding board than a research object per se. Yü’s own research and cultural agenda remain prominent. For instance, he concludes his monograph using Weber to strengthen his own theme that excesses of bureaucratic control and obsessions with maintaining political stability have impeded progress in China, especially in areas of individual liberties and freedoms. The quality of his historical research and insights and his commitment to his principles and to China’s culture have given him a significant voice for six decades in East Asia. At times his distinctive voice is only begrudgingly received or even blocked; however, regardless of whether one agrees with him, his is a voice, like Weber’s, that is hard to ignore.

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T HE R ELIGIOUS E THIC AND

M ERCANTILE S PIRIT

IN

E ARLY M ODERN C HINA

I NTRODUCTION

T

here is little question that Max Weber commands a central position in historical studies and social sciences research in presentday Western scholarship. In the history of modern Western philosophy, one may philosophize with Immanuel Kant or take issue with him, but no one can philosophize without him.1 To a very large extent, Weber’s situation today resembles that of Kant. Those who research social and historical changes in modern East Asia pay special attention to two works by Weber: The Religion of China and The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (hereafter abbreviated as The Protestant Ethic). Although the latter book exclusively addresses the history of the West, the conclusions it reaches nonetheless cast a reflective light on the study of East Asian history. Inherent in Weber’s explanation of the unique rise of Western capitalism is the cogency of a theory that suggests, by way of contrariety, why the modern capitalist economic system did not develop in Asia, particularly in China. During the final decades of the twentieth century, however, mainly because of the unusual phenomenon of rapid economic growth in the East Asian region (including Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong, South Korea, and Singapore), a considerable number of sociologists and economists have begun to pay attention to the positive function of the Confucian ethic. Their studies suggest that there is perhaps a necessity to revise

Weber’s negative view of Confucian thought. Consequently, the Sinological community has since the 1980s explored the question: Did Confucianism—or, in broader terms, Chinese culture at large—play a positive role in propelling the economic development of East Asia?2 Why did modern capitalism not develop in late imperial China? Historians all over the world in recent decades have shared a common concern over this central issue. From Europe, the United States, and Japan to China itself, we can find a lot of special research into this question in various historical writings and academic journals. However, the ways in which historians endeavor to answer this question of common interest clearly divide these scholars into two main schools. The first school determines on theoretical grounds that modern capitalism is bound to appear at some point in Chinese history and claims that it did in fact germinate in China, but various special factors or reasons prevented it from coming to full maturity. What this first school holds, of course, is a Marxist point of view. According to this perspective, the theory of five stages of historical progress is a general law applicable to all human societies, to which China cannot possibly be an exception. The countless discussions in Mainland China since the 1950s concerning “the question of the germination of capitalism” are all products of this historical perspective. The second school of historians does not assume beforehand that capitalism is a necessary stage in the social development of China but rather assesses historical facts to explore why modern capitalism of the Western type was unable to develop in traditional China. These historians do not base themselves entirely on Weber’s theory, but Weber directly or indirectly has influenced all of them. Therefore they represent what may be called a Weberian perspective, and historians in the West and Japan who study this question generally belong to this latter school. Before further analyzing similarities and differences between the two schools, we need to explain briefly the relationship between Marxist and Weberian perspectives. Was The Protestant Ethic written specifically to refute Karl Marx’s materialist conception of history?3 This question, posed by Talcott Parsons, has stirred considerable controversy. Yet, long before Parsons, the relationship between Calvinism and capitalism was already a topic hotly debated by German historians in the 1890s; thus Weber’s study, with its remarkable breakthrough in its 2

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findings, is an example of the research that arose in the wake of such controversy.4 Moreover, in his introduction to the English edition of his Socialism: Utopian and Scientific (1892), Engels had also pointed out clearly: “Calvin’s creed was one fit for the boldest of the bourgeoisie of his time. His predestination doctrine was the religious expression of the fact that in the commercial world of competition success or failure does not depend on a man’s activity or cleverness, but upon circumstances uncontrollable by him.”5 In this light, it seems that Weber’s Protestant Ethic should not be understood as having been specifically designed as a refutation of the Marxist conception of history; nevertheless, closer examination reveals that Weber’s orientation in this topical study is diametrically opposed to historical materialism. Weber is fundamentally against a materialist conception of history. As far as the parts of his thesis relevant to the present study are concerned, the following points are particularly noteworthy: First, Weber is against any single-cause explanation of history and consequently out of sympathy with a theory of economic determinism. Second, in exact opposition to the Marxist view of history, which is a most rigid expression of the theory of social evolution, Weber does not subscribe to any theory of social evolution at all. He does not believe in any necessary developmental stage in the unfolding of history; still less, of course, can he accept the five-stage theory upheld by historical materialism. Third, while historical materialism holds that the underlying economic infrastructure determines political and cultural superstructures, Weber insists that the same underlying basis may result in different superstructures. Furthermore, he clearly maintains that cultural factors—such as thought—can propel changes in the economic formation, and herein lies the principal thesis of The Protestant Ethic. Weber’s contention that the notion of predestination gave impetus to the development of capitalism differed markedly form Engels’s remarks on Calvinism, for Engels still regarded predestination as merely an expression of capitalist competition. Despite attempts by later Marxists to invest thought with an active function or role, they could never acknowledge its role in historical development to the extent that is emphasized in The Protestant Ethic.6 From this perspective, The Protestant Ethic is truly a powerful rebuttal of historical materialism. Introduction

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Yet once either Marx’s or Weber’s perspective is applied to the study of Chinese history, we are immediately confronted with certain difficulties that are almost insurmountable. After all, Marx’s thesis concerning the genesis of capitalism derived entirely from the historical experience of Western Europe; and his five-stage theory is likewise only a summary of Western European socioeconomic history. The fact that Marx vaguely terms the socioeconomic formations of ancient Asia “the Asian mode of production” plainly indicates his wish to distinguish Asia from the slave societies of ancient Greece and Rome. Overall, Marx himself never said that his historical materialism could become universally applicable. In his reply to Mikhailovsky in 1877, he vehemently objected to those who imposed his study of the genesis of Western European capitalism onto the historical experience of Russia. Marx pointed out, without any hesitation, that his historical sketch should never be transformed into a general historical-philosophical theory; still less should it be stretched into a universal historical path, which every people would be fated to tread. Marx stressed that events, strikingly analogous at first glance, taking place in different societies may, because of dissimilarities in historical circumstances, lead to very divergent results. Therefore one should separately study and then compare patterns of historical evolution in different societies before one might begin to discover any common clue for understanding them. From Marx’s reply, we may conclude that there can certainly be no general historical-philosophical theory capable of serving as a master key that can open up all the gates of historical study, for the primary characteristic of all such theories lies in their suprahistorical nature.7 The fact that in his later years Marx made a special point of declaring he was “not a Marxist” is precisely due to the distressing recognition that his disciples (including even Engels in his The Anti-Dühring) had overextended the result of his research.8 Therefore, if we respect Marx’s own opinions, the labored endeavors of present-day Marxist historians to locate the germination of modern capitalism at some point in the history of China are in fact not set on Marx’s theoretical foundations. It is a long recognized and undisputed fact that Marx’s historical writings are profoundly inspiring in providing us with a significantly new perspective and methodology for modern historical research. Apparently, however, Marx himself did not 4

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assert that traditional Chinese society would necessarily give birth to modern capitalism of the Western type. According to Weber’s contention, if the term “capitalism” only means the utilization of privately obtained capital for the sake of acquiring profit in economic activities of exchange, then not only the ancient and medieval West but also the various countries in the ancient East developed capitalist economies already in an early era.9 By this definition, “capitalism,” in the sense of what we would commonly call “commercial capitalism,” has certainly existed in China since the Warring States Period (475–221 b.c.e.). The modern capitalism that emerged in the wake of the Industrial Revolution in the West was a special happening brought about by the unique convergence of many individual historical factors—a convergence that can occur only once and is, indeed, the only instance of its kind in the entirety of human history. Since I have already discussed this point in a separate article, I shall not venture to repeat it here.10 Weber’s distinctive contribution in The Protestant Ethic is his observation that the rise of modern capitalism in the West is to be attributed not only to intrinsic economic factors but also to its cultural background. This is the so-called Protestant ethic, which he also describes more aptly as an “inner-worldly asceticism.” Since he considers the Calvinist notion of “inner-worldly asceticism” as having been especially conducive to the rise of capitalism, Weber’s research focused mainly on regions and territories under the influence of Calvinism, such as Holland and England, as well as New England in North America. He cited many sayings by Benjamin Franklin, in particular, to help explicate “the spirit of capitalism.” This spirit encompasses such virtues as industry, frugality, honesty, and faithfulness, but above all it promotes the view that people must throughout their lifetime continue to amass fortune with their capital and that their objective in life lies in profit-making; nevertheless, profit is not to be pursued for individual enjoyment or the gratification of any other desires in this world. In other words, profitmaking has become one’s “calling,” or what Chinese would call “where one’s duty lies.” Weber himself describes this special spirit as “transcendental and absolutely irrational,” but even more intriguing is his observation that under its governance, people will necessarily employ all of the most rational methods at their command to realize this “irrational” Introduction

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objective. According to Weber’s study, it was in Calvin’s doctrines that the source of this spirit is found. Taking New England as an example, Weber contends that since the spirit of capitalism was in this case existent before the establishment of the capitalistic order, it could not possibly have been a reflection of economic conditions or the economic superstructure—as historical materialists have claimed. If anything, the causal relationship between the two was the reverse, for it was the capitalistic spirit that played an important role in facilitating the rise of capitalism.11 Although his main objective in The Protestant Ethic was to elucidate the cultural background behind the emergence of Western European and North American capitalism, Weber did not abandon his comparative sociological and comparative historical perspective. Thus, although he grants that capitalism in a general sense did exist in China, India, and Babylon, as well as the ancient and medieval West, he maintains that the unique “spirit of capitalism,” as delineated earlier, is one that originated in the Protestant areas of the modern West. Consequently, present-day scholars—who maintain that a relationship exists between the Confucian ethic and the economic development of modern East Asia—cannot but find themselves confronted with a theoretical difficulty: even if a causal relationship between the two were established, it will not suffice for us to overturn Weber’s original thesis. After all, the economic development of Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong, South Korea, and Singapore was sustained similarly by a capitalistic mode of operation transplanted from the West rather than by one that originated indigenously. In contrast to the historical materialism of Marxist theorists, Weber’s study of the Protestant ethic never purports to become a universally applicable theory of history; therefore his observations cannot possibly be imposed wholesale on Chinese history. Yet, as in the case of Marx’s own historical writings, Weber’s Protestant Ethic contains a new perspective and methodology that can well inspire the historical study of non-Western societies. First, rebutting the theory of economic determinism fundamental to historical materialism, Weber thinks that ideas are also effective forces propelling the actual process of history. On the other hand, Weber is certainly no “historical idealist” who considers modern Western capitalism simply to be a product of the 6

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Reformation. What he wishes to explore, as he himself professes, is merely the role played by religious concepts in the total process of the qualitative formation and quantitative expansion of the spirit of capitalism. Overall, Weber maintains that there were three interdependent historical factors involved in the Reformation of Western Europe, namely, economic basis, social and political organization, and the religious ideas current at the time. For Weber, it is in the intricate reciprocal influences among these three factors that the rise of modern capitalism in the West is to be sought; however, The Protestant Ethic itself is limited to an analysis of the intellectual and religious background of the process. This plural-cause theory of history is much more sophisticated and complex than the single-cause theory of historical materialism, so obviously its conclusions cannot be encompassed in a few words or sentences.12 At the same time, Weber’s proposition about “inner-worldly asceticism” also implies a particular historical argument with a universal import, namely, that significant changes often occur in the economic patterns of a society in its reorientation from an “other-worldly” to an “inner-worldly” character. This, indeed, is the problem of “secularization” frequently discussed by Western scholars; moreover, secularization conveys a general significance because non-Western societies (such as China) have also in varying degrees passed through a similar historical stage. Yet because differences in degree do ultimately exist, historians cannot mechanically impose a model derived from Western experience onto the historical process of other societies. For instance, the Calvinist notion of “predestination” is a unique religious peculiarity to which we can find no counterpart in other cultures. Therefore if we adopt the Weberian perspective in the study of Chinese history, we can at most pursue the following question: Is there any idea or concept in the ethical or religious traditions of China that shows a certain parallel in function to the notion of predestination and yet some fundamental differences from it? Herein lies the inspiring nature of the Weberian perspective. Thus, in the final analysis, while we may legitimately propose general “Weberian” questions, we cannot study historical changes in China in strict adherence to the specific content of Weber’s original thesis. Because once we touch on specific content, Weber’s case studies will become fundamentally irrelevant to Chinese history. The same Introduction

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principle also applies to Marx’s theory of history (or, for that matter, any theory propounded by any specialist of the West). We may well raise Marxian questions in our study of Chinese history, but at the same time, we must always remember Marx’s exhortation not to become a “Marxist.” The present book is divided into three parts. Part I discusses the inner-worldly reorientation of Chinese religions chiefly by investigating new Chan Buddhism since the mid-Tang and new religious Daoism after the Song (960–1279). Part II, beginning with Han Yu 七᜸ (768–824) and concluding with Wang Yangming ⦻䲭᰾ (Wang Shouren ⦻ᆸӱ, 1472–1529), traces new developments in Confucian ethics and places an emphasis on an exploration of its complicated relationship with Chan Buddhism. Part III discusses the spiritual resources of Chinese merchants. Largely confining itself to the period between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, this part focuses its examination not on the development of commerce per se but rather on the relationship between merchants and traditional religious ethics. The three parts stand in logical sequence and mutual reinforcement, but each possesses its own measure of independence as well. What we wish to pursue, then, is the following: Before the importation of modern Western capitalism into China, did the traditional religious ethic exert any influence on indigenously developed commercial activities? And if so, what was the specific import of such influence? Readers will readily perceive that what I have raised are so-called Weberian questions; however, in attempting to answer them, I shall try, as much as possible, to let Chinese historical materials speak for themselves. Such an approach can perhaps avoid the common pitfall of imposing a Western theoretical model on Chinese history. Notwithstanding the “Weberian” manner of my questions, therefore, my concrete answers differ markedly from Weber’s judgments set forth in The Religion of China. Nevertheless, the objective of this special study lies not in negative debate with Weber but in opening new territory in the study of Chinese history. For instance, we will explore the development of a stronger work ethic within new Chan Buddhism, new Confucianism, and new Daoism in late medieval to early modern China and how the new work ethic spread in Chinese society. Of the four essential occupational 8

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Introduction

classes of traditional China, that is, “scholars” or “literati” (shi ༛) educated in the Classics, farmers, artisans, and merchants, we will explore the eventual rising status of merchants and the significance of their adoption of the work ethic developed by the new versions of China’s major religious traditions. Whatever occasional retorts arise along the way are called for by the necessity to clarify my own points. Whether theoretically or factually, there is no reason for us to remain at Weber’s level of comprehension (more than a century after he propounded his thesis); all this is especially the case in the study of Chinese history. Nonetheless, certain of Weber’s insights still, after all these years, stand out with refreshing relevance and brilliance. If not for Weber’s insights, my monograph would perhaps not have materialized.

Introduction

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9

P ART I THE INNER-WORLDLY REORIENTATION OF CHINESE RELIGIONS

T

he so-called distinction between the “other world” and “this world” in traditional religious parlance points to the fact that religion has its transcendental and its earthly aspects. Is the transcendental other world permanent and unchanging, ever fresh and new in the baptism of time? This is a question on which opinions will always differ, and to which no conclusive answer is possible. No religion, however, can ultimately avoid contact with “this world,” and “this world” is in constant transformation. Therefore, by focusing our attention on the interpenetration and interaction between the two worlds, we shall be able to explore the issue of the historical metamorphosis of religions. Weber attaches great importance to the Reformation and particularly to the doctrines of Calvinism, for he clearly regards this religious movement as the inaugurating point of the modern spirit in the West. In terms of his dichotomy between tradition and modernity, China was distinct from the West; in his era, China was still a traditional society, whereas the Occident had already entered the stage of modernity. For Weber, industrial capitalism, science, and technology are the most central and concrete expression of the modern Western spirit, and it is precisely these

advances that were lacking in China. In The Religion of China, Weber draws an elaborate contrast between Confucianism and Puritanism, in which the two appear almost antithetical to each other at every turn.1 According to his understanding, there was never a stage of development in Chinese history that is equivalent to the Reformation in the West. Although most of Weber’s judgments about Confucianism appear today to be highly problematic, Weber himself is certainly to be exonerated for his misapprehensions because he was limited to the standard Western Sinological studies at the time. In recent decades the view of religious sociologists has undergone a fundamental revision. In his discussion of early modern religion, for instance, Robert N. Bellah (1927– 2013) acknowledged that religious reform movements, similar to Protestantism in the West, did occur in Islam, Buddhism, religious Daoism (traditional spelling, Taoism), and Confucianism, albeit they were not as thorough and sustained as the Reformation in the West.2 If we take the Reformation as a standard of comparison, a similar movement not only did occur in China but also far earlier than its counterpart in the West. The fundamental direction of the Reformation was a movement from “world-renouncing” to “inner-worldly,” in other words, from abandoning “this world” to affirming it. One of the important concepts involved was Martin Luther’s notion of “salvation by faith alone,” with its emphasis on direct communication between a person and God without intermediary interference and control by the rigidly stratified medieval church. Related to this focus on individual faith was a general climate of freedom to interpret the Bible that accentuated the true spirit of the Bible and slighted philological exegesis. This climate originated with Luther as well. Proceeding from the perspective of comparative sociology, Weber naturally places special emphasis on the socioeconomic ethic of Calvinism and the tremendous influence it generated. For on a comparative level, Luther’s own economic, ethical, and social ideas appear to be far more traditional and conservative than the corresponding Calvinist ones that arose in Luther’s wake. Luther’s political notions even showed a strong tendency toward authoritarianism; nonetheless, one should not lightly dismiss the merit of Lutheranism in creating a new atmosphere. For instance, Luther first employed the concept of “calling” in his German translation of the Bible.3 Even in terms of an economic ethic, Lutheranism can lay legitimate claim to 12

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Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions

positive contributions: its prohibition of begging, its encouragement of the masses to work for self-support, and its religious individualism all played a role in fostering the development of economic life. Overall, people in Lutheran parishes were, in fact, relatively assiduous and resilient.4 Therefore, in discussing the religious reorientation in Chinese history from a comparative historical perspective, there is no need for us to follow Weber strictly in confining the Protestant ethic to the doctrines of Calvinism. The reason is simple: while Weber was trying to locate the religious sources of modern Western capitalism, our main objective is to trace the possible influence that the secularization of the Chinese religious ethic had on a mercantile spirit. As we have already noted, modern capitalism is a phenomenon that is unique to the West, and at present we still do not have sufficient grounds to believe it to be a necessary stage that China must pass through in the process of its historical development. What we are pursuing is a “Weberian” question, but there is no need for us to transplant Weber’s original problems to the study of Chinese history. In their discussion of the contribution of cultural elements to the economic development of East Asia, present-day sociologists and economists often pay attention only to the Confucian ethic. It is no doubt natural to adopt such an approach, for at least ostensibly the Confucian ethic does occupy a leading position in the daily life of this region. In terms of historical development, however, the reorientation of the Chinese religious ethic began with Buddhism. As Chen Yinke 䲣ᇵᚚ (1890–1969) rightly observed, “From the Jin dynasty (266–420) until the present day, Chinese thought may be represented by the Three Teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. This may appear to be no more than popular talk, but check it against the facts of past history, test it against the sensibilities of today, and one will find that this proposition about the Three Teachings is indisputable.”5 Therefore we cannot investigate this issue without at the same time touching on the new developments in the ethic of the Three Teachings. [Although emphases and approaches differ among the Three Teaching regarding the “Way” (Dao 䚃), this study follows their shared usage of the term to highlight the continuity in the influence of their turn to enhanced inner-worldly asceticism that contributed to a new perspective on working to earn a living, and ultimately to a mercantile ethic in “the Way of business.”] Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions •

13

[1] ( J APANESE

A

N EW C HAN P RONUNCIATION , Z EN ) B UDDHISM

s a religion of an extremely world-renouncing type, original Buddhism in India rejected “this world,” which it perceived in negative terms. It is widely understood that such a characterization of this world does not square at all with the strong inner-worldly orientation in Chinese thinking. In fact, Chinese thought has displayed a distinct humanistic tendency since pre-Qin times.1 Ancient Chinese thinkers did make a very clear distinction between a transcendental ideal world (the “other world”) and the world of phenomenal reality (“this world”). Nevertheless, unlike the sharp contrast that obtained in other ancient civilizations, such as Greece, Israel, and India, one of the salient characteristics of Chinese thought is that the relationship between the two worlds remains one that is “neither too familiar nor too distant,” that is, “neither too close nor too remote” or “neither identical nor separate” (bu ji bu li нণн䴒). The Daoists had early distinguished between what is “within the realm” ( fangnei ᯩ‫ )ޗ‬and what is “beyond the realm” ( fangwai ᯩཆ). The later concept of “immortals” (xian ԉ), however, gradually changed from its pre-Qin character of complete detachment from the vulgar world to a humanistic one during the Qin-Han period: “When a man becomes an immortal even his pets ascend to heaven”; or even to the notion whereby “earthly immortals” (dixian ൠԉ) voluntarily remain in the terrestrial realm.2

However, with the general topsy-turvy chaos of the Wei-Jin period (220–420), it became even less worthwhile to remain in “this world,” and capitalizing on the spiritual vacuum, Buddhism managed to progressively dominate not only the intellectual realm of the Chinese elite but also Chinese popular culture. Buddhism had arrived in China at least around the time of the transition from the Former to the Latter Han period in the first century. The fact that Buddhism had to bide its time until the Wei-Jin period before it could generate a tremendous impact is no doubt intimately related to the social changes in China at the time. A long and complicated process of transformation was involved before a religion of an extremely world-renouncing type could finally be integrated into a humanistic culture. Not only did the infusion of new elements necessarily lead to mutations in Chinese culture itself; the doctrines of Buddhism could not but undergo a considerable measure of fundamental modification to take root and grow in the new environment. Due to the limitation of space, the present study cannot explore this historical process.3 Broadly speaking, the world-renouncing spirit of Buddhism (and religious Daoism as well) dominated the ethos of Chinese culture during the seven hundred years or so from the Wei-Jin period through the Tang dynasty (618–906). Although Confucianism never quite lost its inner-worldly character, its function was considerably circumscribed during this period and limited to practical politics and the social ritualism of aristocratic families. As far as the ultimate spiritual abode in life was concerned, most of the Chinese people found recourse either in Buddhism or in religious Daoism. In the meantime, as Chinese society passed through a period of drastic transformation, Buddhism itself also underwent a continuous process of metamorphosis. From the perspective of social history, the most significant fact in the transformation of Chinese Buddhism during the Tang dynasty was its reorientation from a world-renouncing to an inner-worldly tenor. Developments along this line in the new Chan Buddhism established by Huineng ភ㜭 (638–713) are especially noteworthy for their groundbreaking and revolutionary achievement; it is not without good reason that he has been called the Martin Luther of China.4 Chan sources and modern scholars have commonly characterized Huineng’s teachings as “pointing directly to the original mind” and 16

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“without laying down words.” Among his sayings found in the popular version of the Platform Sutra that circulated in later times are such expressions as these, in the “Jiyuan pin” ₏㐓૱ (Chapter on potential opportunities): “Words I know not, but meaning you may inquire about;” and “the wonderful truths of the various Buddhas have nothing to do with words.”5 There are of course a considerable number of problems concerning the legend of Huineng’s life and the dissemination of the Platform Sutra. Speaking in general terms, however, it remains reasonable to maintain that Huineng was not highly educated, even if he were literate. Furthermore, although the Platform Sutra underwent subsequent revision and adornment, we may still take the Dunhuang edition as a fair representation of Huineng’s thought. Consider section 31 of the Dunhuang written edition: The various Buddhas of the three worlds (past, present, and future) and the twelve divisions of the canon are all from the outset immanent in human nature. While he who cannot gain enlightenment by himself must have good and learned friends to teach him how to see into his own nature, he who can gain enlightenment by himself need not depend externally on good and learned friends. If he seeks outside for good and learned friends in the hope of gaining deliverance, he will get nowhere. It is with understanding coming from the good and learned friend inside his own mind that he gains deliverance.6

This shows that Huineng did indeed advocate, “pointing directly to the original mind.” The proposition about Huineng’s “not laying down words,” on the other hand, seems to be a problematic one. As section 46 of the Platform Sutra reads, “Those who slander the Dharma [Truth, i.e., Buddha’s teachings] say straightforwardly, ‘Do not use words.’ But since they say, ‘Do not use words,’ it is not fit for someone to speak at all, for speech is words.” In an early text there is a comment by Chan master Qisong ཱྀ᎙ (1007–1072) following that statement: “So it is said straightforwardly that one does not lay down words; however, even the characters, ‘not lay down,’ are words, too.” In this light, the assertion that Chan Buddhism “does not lay down words” appears to have been a fabrication by outsiders New Chan (Japanese Pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism •

17

in an attempt to “slander the Dharma.” Huineng’s original message is ascertainable from section  28: “Therefore, we know that the original nature possesses transcendent wisdom (prajñā) and is able to observe and illuminate in the light of its own wisdom without relying on words.” Hence what Chan Buddhism advocates is not an absolute dispensation with the use of language but rather the “forgetting of language once its meaning is secured.” There is a vast difference between “not relying on,” on the one hand, and “not using” or “not laying down,” on the other hand. Judging from his statement in section  42, “If you practice [the Dharma] in your mind, you may turn the Lotus Sutra around, but if you do not do so, the Lotus Sutra will turn you around,” Huineng certainly favored a liberal interpretation of the sutras to avoid being “buried beneath the lines.” Such statements reflect an attitude toward scriptural writings not far removed from that of Martin Luther. Even more deserving of attention is a passage in section 36: “Good and learned friends, if you wish to practice, you may do so at home; you do not have to be in a monastery. He who is in a monastery without practicing is like the evil-minded people of the West; on the other hand, the layman practicing at home is like the people of the East who practice the good. As long as one is willing to practice purity at home, that is already [like being challenged in] the West.” The same section also records Huineng’s “formless verse” (wuxiang song ❑⴨丼) that helps free one from attachments, part of which runs: The Dharma is originally immanent in the world; It transcends the world through being in the world. Do not therefore leave this world, And seek externally the transcendent world.

In the popular version circulating in later times, this verse became: The Buddha’s Dharma is in the world; Without leaving the world, one will arrive at awakening. To leave the world in search of enlightenment (bodhi), Is just like seeking a rabbit’s antler!

This popular version makes the meaning even more obvious. 18

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Huineng’s proposition—“if you wish to practice, you may do so at home; you do not have to be in a monastery”—was no less than a thunderous roar that shook the entire Buddhist world at the time. This declaration formally charted the reorientation of the Buddhist spirit from world renunciation to inner-worldliness, a basic position from which repeated reiterations by later Chan masters did not depart. Therefore by Song times (960–1279), Dahui Zonggao བྷភᇇᶢ (1089–1163) felt compelled to proclaim, “The law in the world is the Buddha’s Dharma, the Buddha’s Dharma is the law in the world.” The exhortation by Chan masters to turn back to the world, of course, did not indicate Buddhism had forsaken its basic standpoint of renouncing this world. What they discovered, however, is that this world has a positive contribution to make in the process of “deliverance”: one could not reach the other shore without tempering oneself through the trials of this world. In the words of Nanquan Puyuan ই⋹Პ予 (748–834), “Go straight to the other side to reach understanding, but come back here to practice it.”7 This message is comparable to that of Western Protestant masters, because they—Luther and Calvin alike—regarded this world in a negative way and perceived it as the consequence of man’s original sin. Yet like the Chan masters, neither Luther nor Calvin advocated seeking refuge in the monastery and cultivating the spirit in quietude in renunciation of this world. On the contrary, they considered engaging oneself in this world and fulfilling one’s duty as the only way one may ultimately transcend this world. It was from here that the concept of “calling” ensued, in that it was envisaged as something pursued in accordance with the divine will of God. The reason the spirit of inner-worldly asceticism reached its fullest development in Calvinism is that Calvin’s concept of “calling” was a more active and positive one, for he believed that it was God’s intention for believers to attain the ultimate objective of renouncing this world through overcoming and re-creating this world from the inside. The accessibility of spiritual cultivation outside of monasteries, together with the proposition that “it is with the understanding coming from the good and learned friend inside one’s own mind that one gains deliverance,” without the need to seek from the outside, shows a similarity between the standpoint of Chan Buddhism and the Protestant idea of “salvation by faith alone.” If, as Robert N. Bellah suggested, “the New Chan (Japanese Pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism •

19

direct relation between the individual and transcendent reality” is indeed a characteristic of early modern religions, there is no question that both Chan Buddhism and Protestantism possess this common characteristic.8 The crucial difference is that Christianity is a religion of the external transcendence type whose “transcendent reality” is God. Furthermore, the revolutionary character of Protestantism, as pointed out earlier, lies in repulsing the medieval church and putting the individual in direct communication with God. However, the path that Chan Buddhism follows is one of immanent transcendence, because its “transcendent reality” is the “Buddha-nature” or “original mind” innate within a person. However, in advocating that “as long as one knows his original mind, that is already deliverance” [Platform Sutra, section 31], Chan Buddhism similarly liberates one’s quest for enlightenment from the fetters of the monastery and even of the sutras. On this point alone, we cannot but admit that the new Chan Buddhism established by Huineng was a veritable revolution in the history of Chinese Buddhism. Yet, in the final analysis, there are significant differences between the revolution of Chan Buddhism and the Reformation in the West. Indeed, not only did medieval Christianity completely control and govern Western spiritual life through the unified papal court, it also penetrated deeply and ubiquitously into every facet of medieval secular life, from politics and economics to custom and mores. Once the Reformation erupted, it immediately spiraled into a tsunamic turbulence that sent Western Christendom into a whirl. Consequently, Protestant leaders like Luther and Calvin found it necessary to propose a clear and comprehensive set of answers in their doctrines that would address various issues pertaining to the involvement of Christianity with the secular world. On questions ranging from the nation, the family, economics, law, and education to personal morality and social organization, Luther and Calvin never failed to present voluminous discourses from their respective religious or theological viewpoints. Indeed, nothing less would have enabled their denominations to gain the understanding and support of influential groups in society and of believers at large. In this light, the role played by Buddhism in traditional Chinese society cannot even begin to compare with that of Christianity in the West. Touching as it does on the similarities and differences between China and the 20

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West in terms of interactions between religions and cultural systems, this is obviously a question beyond the scope of our present discussion. Here, we need merely to point out an important fact: Huineng’s Chan revolution was at first limited to the confines of Buddhism. Moreover, since Chan was but one of the many sects of Buddhism flourishing during the Tang dynasty, this revolution took place quietly in a corner of the religious world, without immediately causing ripples that spread across the entire secular society. Moreover, Huineng’s Platform Sutra did not discuss problems related to the secular world either. Although his disciple Shenhui ⾎ᴳ (688–758) showed greater interest in politics, his central concern remained with religious issues, such as defending the orthodoxy of the Southern School of Chan, rather than with secular problems as such. From the Shenhui yulu ⾎ᴳ䃎䤴 (Recorded conversations of Shenhui) discovered in Dunhuang, we find him in contact with a host of secular figures, ranging from a minister of revenue, a vice-minister of the Board of Rites, prefects, and vice-prefects to aides, administrative aides, supervising secretaries, and county magistrates. Their topics of conversation, however, centered exclusively on questions and difficulties arising from the meaning of Buddhist doctrines. Thus to date there are no historical materials that can help to illuminate the views held by early Chan Buddhist masters regarding socioeconomic ethics. The inner-worldly reorientation of Chan Buddhism was a movement extending over a long period of time, and within a century after Huineng’s death, the Southern School of Chan finally achieved a breakthrough in its development of a Buddhist economic ethic. I refer to the Baizhang qinggui Ⲯи␵㾿 (Monastic rules of Baizhang) of Baizhang Huaihai Ⲯиᠧ⎧ (749–814) and the Conglin ਒᷇ Monastery system that he formally established. Initially, this economic ethic confined itself to the Buddhist community; it was quite a long while before its influence gradually spread to other sectors of society. No religion, of course, can exist independent of the secular world. Every religion has its secular history, and Buddhism is no exception to this rule. Buddhism did exert an important influence on the economic history of China between the Jin and Tang dynasties; thus it has left an indelible stamp on the economy, industry, and commerce. Chinese, Japanese, and Western historians have completed numerous studies that New Chan (Japanese Pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism •

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may serve as useful references on the subject. Nevertheless, the actual influence of Buddhism on the Chinese economy and the economic ethic of Buddhism belong to two different areas of inquiry. The real issue relevant to the present discussion is the inner-worldly reorientation of the Buddhist economic ethic rather than Buddhist economic history as such. The original Buddhist economic ethic, which came from India, advocated against labor. As a memorial submitted by Xun Ji 㥰☏ (d. 547) during the reign of Emperor Wu (502–549) of the Liang dynasty (502– 557) illustrated, “According to the teachings passed down by the Buddhists, [only] monks do not cultivate the fields or store up money and grain but beg for food and clothing as mendicant monks. . . . With so many people no longer cultivating the fields, starvation and depletion threaten our world.” 9 It is clear that according to the original Vinaya (regulatory framework for monastic community) of India Buddhism, Buddhist followers earned their livelihood through mendicancy rather than engagement in farming production.10 In the agrarian society of China, however, it was not feasible to let monks completely refrain from agricultural cultivation. For instance, Faxian ⌅亟 (337–422), who had become a Buddhist novice at the age of three, “formerly harvested paddy rice in the fields with dozens of fellow novices” while living at the monastery.11 Thus Daoheng 䚃ᙶ (346–417) of the Eastern Jin dynasty (317–420) had already written that Buddhist monks of the time “either cultivated the fields and gardens, engaging in the same occupation as the farmers, or traveled around to trade, vying with the multitude for profit.” 12 From the Northern and Southern Dynasties (420–589) until the rebellion (755–763) begun by An Lushan ᆹ⾯ኡ (703–757), Buddhism generally sustained itself economically by such means as benefactions from followers (including estates and fields), mendicancy, and the management of industrial and commercial enterprises. After the An Lushan rebellion, benefactions from the aristocrats were never as plentiful as before; therefore Buddhist monks had to depend on their own efforts to secure their livelihood. It was under these historical circumstances that the monastic rules and Conglin Monastery system of Baizhang Huaihai came into being.

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Among the monastic rules instituted by Baizhang Huaihai, two are particularly relevant to the thesis of the present discussion. First, according to his biography in Zanning’s 䌺ሗ (919–1002) Song Gaoseng zhuan ᆻ儈‫( ۣܗ‬Biographies of eminent monks in the Song dynasty), “[Huaihai,] regarding regularly working and eating to serve as an appropriate model for demonstrating frugality, participated in labor during the day and gathered his pupils in the evening. He installed the rule of ‘collective participation’ (puqing Პ䃻) to demonstrate equal exertion of labor by all above and below.” 13 In other words, “frugality” and “industry” had now become the two main pillars of the new economic ethic of Chan Buddhism. What exactly is the meaning of puqing? According to the following statement found in the popular version of the Monastic Rules of Baizhang circulating in later times, “The Rule of puqing means equal exertion of labor by all above and below. For anything within the community quarters that is undertaken with communal efforts and pooled resources . . . , all should participate in the work—except those keeping watch at the huts or on duty in the halls, and the old and the sick. Let us remember the ancients’ precept, ‘one day no work, one day no food.’ ” 14 Additionally, the Chanlin xiangqi jian ⿚᷇䊑ಘㆻ set forth a definition of puqing, “Puqing means assembling the community to engage in work.” 15 “To engage in work”—physical labor—had a long history in the Chan tradition. The Platform Sutra had earlier recorded Hongren ᕈᗽ (601– 674) “bidding Huineng to engage in work like the others” (section  3). The puqing collective participation system laid down by Baizhang now required all senior and junior members of the monastery, including himself, to exert physical labor together. As related in the chapter on Baizhang Huaihai in the Wudeng huiyuan ӄ⟸ᴳ‫( ݳ‬Synthesis of the five “lamps”), Whenever the master engaged in work, he always labored more than his community members did. Unable to bear this, the monk in charge secretly hid the master’s working tools and entreated him to desist from his strenuous exertion. However, the master said, “Since I have no virtue, can it be fitting for me to benefit from

New Chan (Japanese Pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism •

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the labor of others?” He searched everywhere for his working tools in vain, and in the process forgot about his meal. Hence there arose the slogan, “one day no work, one day no food,” which spread all over the world.16

The slogan “one day no work, one day no food” quoted in this passage was mistakenly in the course of time attributed to Baizhang. In fact, it represented a characterization of him by Chan followers of a slightly later date; thus it did not come directly from Baizhang himself. Nevertheless, in Baizhang Huaihai’s stupa epitaph, which Chen Xu 䲣䂑 wrote in 818, Baizhang was already clearly described: “His activities were the same as those of his community; thus, whenever his pupils labored, he likewise always toiled.” 17 Written four years after Baizhang’s death, the epitaph represents firsthand historical material from which we can see how the Chan master did indeed personally exemplify the spirit of “one day no work, one day no food.” 18 The puqing collective participation method that Baizhang instituted, with its “one day no work, one day no food” stipulation, was a reform that reflected the Chan monk’s determination to relinquish the original Vinaya in Indian Buddhism and “establish a separate domicile for Chan.” 19 Therefore it is not surprising that it provoked internal criticism at the time, for such a transformation was bound to lead to difficulties in doctrine. The following dialogue particularly deserves our attention: Question: “As for cutting grass, chopping wood, digging the earth and cultivating the soil, are these sinful acts entailing retribution?” The master replied: “One cannot say definitely that they are sinful, nor can one say definitely that they are sinless. Whether they are sinful or sinless depends on the person involved. If he is greedy and tainted by sundry considerations of possession and nonpossession, with a mind so set on acquisition and riddance that he cannot but mention such things within the course of three sentences, he is definitely sinful. However, he is definitely sinless if he passes beyond three sentences without mentioning such considerations and retains a vacuous and empty mind that does not even entertain any thought of vacuity and emptiness.

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The master also said: If one commits a sinful act but says he sees no sin, he will get nowhere. . . . If one commits no sinful act but says he is sinful, he will get nowhere as well. In the Vinaya, for instance, confused people incited by evil spirits are not even guilty of the sins of the evil spirits. Do we need to mention that according to the transmission of the Chan School, the mind is a vacuous and empty one that holds not a single thing, without even taking on the form of vacuity and emptiness! So where can the sin lodge?”20

From the conversation between Baizhang and his pupil, we can clearly perceive that his doctrinal revolution did indeed create high tension in the minds of Buddhist followers. For it was one thing for them previously to accept that they could not in reality avoid farming work altogether, and quite another to make a formal change in doctrine and affirm the necessity for cultivating the fields. The inference from Baizhang’s reply is that no question of sin really arises, as long as one is not entangled by an activity in which one is engaged. In later times Yuan and Ming editions of the Huanzhu qinggui ᒫտ ␵㾿 (Monastic rules of Huanzhu) provided a clear explanation of this point: In collective participation in public purposes, all should exert equal effort irrespective of whether the task is grave or light. No one should sit obstinately, clinging to quietude, or defy the community by declining to participate. In the process of work, one must not mock and joke, or boast about one’s talents and show off one’s ability. Rather, one should just concentrate one’s mind on the Way, comply with what the community needs on the occasion, then return to the meditation hall after the task is finished and meditate quietly as before. Whether in a state of activity or quietude, one should comprehend the transcendent; in this way, one may be active all day [as if] not engaging in activity at all.21

This is to fulfill one’s duty in the world with a solemn and transcendent spirit, and what the lay Buddhist Pangyun 嗀㰺 meant when he said,

New Chan (Japanese Pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism •

25

“Magical power and its wonderful application lie in carrying water and chopping firewood.” In this connection, the conversation recorded in the Wudeng huiyuan between Weishan ▉ኡ and his younger fellow-pupil Yangshan Ԡኡ is also of exceptional significance: “At the end of the summer, the master paid his respects to Weishan. Wei inquired, ‘I have not seen you come up here for a whole summer; what have you been doing down there?’ The master replied, ‘I hoed a strip of soil and sowed a basket of seeds.’ Wei commented, ‘You have not passed this summer for nothing.’ ”22 Weishan Lingyou ▉ኡ䵸⾀ (d. 853) was the Dharma-successor of Baizhang Huaihai. Saying that hoeing a strip of soil and sowing seeds represented “not passing time for nothing,” he not only affirmed the value of earthly activities but also manifestly conferred religious significance on them. This is precisely the implication of a “calling” in Protestantism, according to Weber’s explanation.23 Moreover, if we further relate this comment to St.  Paul’s statement, “if a man will not work, neither shall he eat,” which Calvin specifically cited, then the revolutionary significance of the “inner-worldly asceticism” of Chan Buddhism becomes even more evident. In the course of time, the new religious ethic of Baizhang Huaihai grew beyond the Buddhist world and spread to the lay society. As a result, it became common knowledge by Song times that the Chan masters beginning with Huineng, but especially since Baizhang Huaihai, had successfully transformed Buddhism from world renunciation to inner-worldliness. This is perhaps why Song Confucians took pride in ridiculing Buddhists of the time for their failure to follow the doctrinal instructions in the original Indian version. The following two examples in Zhu Xi’s ᵡ⟩ (1130–1200) recorded conversations may well serve as a concrete illustration: 1. For example, the Buddhists initially spoke of shaving their hair and severing themselves from the affairs of the world. When later their doctrines came to a dead end in actual practice, they then began to talk about how it does no harm, as far as one’s faith is concerned, to set up one’s means of production for a living. 2. For example, Buddhist practitioners initially entertained such talk as “sleeping under a mulberry tree for one night.” But when

26

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Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions

this did not turn out to be practicable, they then said that the various means of making a living were in all ways just as good [as “sleeping under a mulberry tree for one night”].24

Here we see clearly that Zhu Xi was fully knowledgeable about the historical transformation of Buddhism from world renunciation to inner-worldly reorientation. However, he interpreted this transformation in purely negative terms, that is, the collapse of Buddhism as a self-contradictory belief system. Therefore he dismissed the doctrinal revisions made by later Buddhists as nothing more than what Mencius called “evasive words” (dunci 䙱䗝) resorted to when they were at their wits’ end. To conclude this section, I would like to add a word about Baizhang Huaihai. As far as the development of the economic ethic of Chan Buddhism was concerned, the importance of Baizhang and his monastic rules deserves special emphasis. As shown earlier, Baizhang’s monastic life had been characterized by his disciples in the famous slogan, “one day no work, one day no food,” which soon became a generally accepted rule in the monastic community. Moreover, from the Song dynasty to modern times, as the slogan was spreading to the lay world, it eventually turned into a popular expression known to every household. Hence Zhai Hao 㘏⚍ (1712–1788) included it in his influential and comprehensive dictionary of “common and popular sayings.”25 It is for good reason that contemporary specialists on Chan Buddhist history lay special emphasis on the historical significance of the Monastic Rules of Baizhang.26

New Chan (Japanese Pronunciation, Zen) Buddhism •

27

[2] N EW R ELIGIOUS D AOISM

T

he relationship between religious Daoism and Buddhism has always been an extremely complicated one: mutual competition and conflict, on the one hand, and reciprocal involvement, on the other. Religious Daoism often assimilated, for its own use, the doctrines, disciplines, and rituals of Buddhism. This was of course because the organization of Buddhism was far better developed than that of indigenous Chinese religions. In terms of religious character, Daoism was far more inner-worldly in orientation than Buddhism and had continuously assimilated elements of Confucianism since Han times. “The union of the Three Teachings in one,” one may say, has always been the consistent position of religious Daoism. During the Tang dynasty, religious Daoism became extremely popular among the upper aristocratic classes, for the Tang royal house, revering Laozi as a remote ancestor, promoted a kind of official religious Daoism that persisted beyond the Song period. Nevertheless, this officially sponsored Daoism is not what the present discussion intends to address, for what really wielded influence on the general social ethic in China was popular religious Daoism. It is unfortunate that we do not yet understand very well the situation of popular religious Daoism in the wake of the An Lushan rebellion; this gap still awaits bridging by research specialists.

Speaking based on our present knowledge of the history of religious Daoism, the most significant development in the rise of new religious Daoism was the burgeoning of the Complete Truth sect (Quanzhen jiao ‫ⵏޘ‬ᮉ) during the twelfth century. Thereafter the True Great Way sect (Zhendadao jiao ⵏབྷ䚃ᮉ), the Supreme Unity sect (Taiyi jiao ཚаᮉ), and the Purity-Illumination sect (Jingming jiao ␘᰾ᮉ) soon developed. All four sects had popular roots and exerted extensive influence on the general social ethic. New religious Daoism stood in tripartite balance with new Confucianism and new Chan Buddhism of the era; together they represent new developments in Chinese folk culture that progressively supplanted the position of Tang aristocratic culture.1 Yet in terms of the new religious ethic of inner-worldly asceticism, the origins of this great historical shift must be in new Chan Buddhism since the time of Huineng; comparable trends in Confucianism and religious Daoism arose in the wake of Chan Buddhism. Here I shall provide an overview of the development of the new sects of religious Daoism, focusing especially on the influence from Chan Buddhism, while leaving the new trends in Confucianism to part II. Concerning the establishment of the Complete Truth sect, the clearest account is in Yuan Haowen’s ‫( ୿ྭݳ‬1190–1257) chronicle of the Ziwei Temple ㍛ᗞ㿰: Since the Zhenyuan 䋎‫ ݳ‬and Zhenglong ↓䲶 reigns (1153–1160), there has also arisen the teaching of the Complete Truth sect, advocated by Wang Zhongfu ⦻ѝᆊ [i.e., Wang Chongyang ⦻䟽䲭 (1113–1170)] of Xianyang ૨䲭 and echoed by [his disciples] Tan, Ma, Qiu, and Liu. It roots itself in the teaching of profundity and quietude, without such preposterous absurdities as praying in yellow caps to allay sickness and avert misfortunes; it incorporates the practices of Chan Buddhism without the afflictions of mendicancy and fetters of discipline. Adherents of the sect cultivate the fields and dig wells, and by supporting themselves extend any surplus they have to other people. In contrast to the bustle of the world, their way of life seems much simpler and more practical.2

What is particularly noteworthy in this piece of writing by Yuan Haowen is the observation that the Complete Truth sect “incorporates New Religious Daoism • 29

the practices of Chan Buddhism without the afflictions of mendicancy and fetters of discipline.” In fact, what the statement points to here is the Conglin Monastery system instituted by Baizhang Huaihai. Daoxuan 䚃ᇓ (596–667), in the Xu Gaoseng zhuan 㒼儈‫( ۣܗ‬Supplement to Biographies of Eminent Monks), recorded this event: Someone asked, “The Yogācārabhūmi-śāstra and Yingluo Sutra (scripture) contain Mahayana precepts. Why do we not follow them?” [Huai]hai replied, “I blend Mahayana and Hinayana precepts, finding a balance and devising rules that will lead to goodness, so I institute as my objective directs, without following the Vinaya strictly, and thus establish a separate domicile for Chan.”3

Not only did the organizational framework of the Complete Truth sect imitate the model established by Baizhang, its religious ethic also assimilated the Chan master’s teaching, “one day no work, one day no food.” We have already seen clear testimony to such an ethic in what Yuan Haowen mentioned about the Quanzhen followers, “cultivating the fields and digging wells to support themselves.” Yuan Jue 㺱ầ (1266–1327), however, gave an even more vivid depiction of this aspect of their life in his discussion of the Complete Truth sect: The teaching of the northern patriarchs of the Complete Truth sect attach primary importance to the capacity to endure strenuous hardship and labor in agricultural work. Thus where shelter and food are concerned, they do not dare enjoy what is not the fruit of their own labor. With hair disheveled and face dirty, subsisting on coarse rice, insulated from worries and attachments alike, they find peace in what others cannot endure.4

Although the Complete Truth sect turned “high-class” in outlook in its later stage of development during the Yuan dynasty, it was surely in its  upholding self-support, industry, and thrift that its initial appeal lay. Whether Wang Chongyang and his disciples had formally consulted Baizhang’s Conglin Monastery system and monastic rules when they established their sect is not something that we can hastily 30

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judge owing to the lack of sufficient historical evidence. Yet the statement by Yuan Haowen is indirect testimony, which allows us to believe that the Complete Truth sect was at least influenced by Chan Buddhism. In addition, two other important facts also lend support to our inference. First, Daoist temples of the Complete Truth sect were later called Conglin Monasteries, and the sect had percepts that were similar to the “monastic rules” of Baizhang. The seat of the Complete Truth sect was the present White Cloud Temple in Beijing, whose predecessor was the Heavenly Permanence Temple built as decreed by Tang emperor Xuanzong ୀ⦴ᇇ (r. 712–756), which was renamed the Everlasting Spring Temple during the Yuan dynasty. Among the holdings of the White Cloud Temple is the Quanzhen yuanfan qinggui ‫ݳⵏޘ‬ㇴ␵㾿 (Fundamental paradigms and monastic rules of the Complete Truth sect), of which Japanese scholars made close studies from the 1920s into the 1940s. According to their findings, these “monastic rules” of the Complete Truth sect basically resembled the Chanyuan qinggui ⿚㤁␵㾿 (Monastic rules of the Chan community) of the Northern Song (960– 1126), which itself was an amended version of the Monastic Rules of Baizhang. Therefore it is indeed “truly borne out by evidence” that the organization of the Complete Truth sect was modeled on the “Chan domicile” instituted by Baizhang.5 Second, we have evidence from an inscription by Wang Pan ⦻⼀, who wrote: “The Complete Truth sect regards understanding the mind and seeing one’s nature as its fundamental concern, and abnegating the self and benefiting the world as its guide to conduct. It does not rely on learning; nor does it lay down words.” 6 Preserved in the Ganshui xianyuan lu ⭈≤ԉⓀ䤴 (Record of the magic water at Ganhe and the source of immortality), this statement blatantly uses the language of Chan Buddhism to describe the principles of the Complete Truth sect. Being a collection of historical materials on the sect edited by a follower called Li Daoqian ᵾ䚃䅉 (1219–1296), the Ganshui xianyuan lu is certainly not a slandering concoction by some hostile outsider but rather a credible historical account. While emphasizing the deep influence exerted by Baizhang Huaihai’s Chan reform on the rise of new religious Daoism, we do not deny the presence in the latter of an intrinsic spirit. Perhaps this spirit was part of a general Zeitgeist from the late Tang to New Religious Daoism •

31

the Song that not only reflected itself in Chan Buddhism but also expressed itself in new Confucianism and new religious Daoism. Methodologically and organizationally, new religious Daoism might have come under the influence of Chan Buddhism; however, its spirit could not have been simply a borrowed one but had to arise from within. Thus, in the context of the Daoist religious tradition itself, the emergence of the Complete Truth sect represents an extremely innovative development—at least it was regarded as such by people at the time. Wang Yun ⦻ᜢ (1227–1304) had this to say in an inscription celebrating a new temple of the sect: Since Han times the reclusion of the hermits, the preposterousness of the occultists ( fangshi ᯩ༛), the craft of immortality and alchemy, as well as matters of sacrificial rituals and intercessional incantations, have all come within the realm of Daoism. These are all widely verifiable if one examines ancient records. In following the trivial and abandoning the fundamental, the degeneration of the Daoists reached its nadir during the Xuanhe ᇓ઼ reign (1119– 1125). However, having reached its extreme, a reversal began, and so the teachings of the Complete Truth sect have arisen. They maintain profound quietude to manifest their objective and cultivate virtue to practice the Way. Compliantly, people follow them, and their adherents increase to great numbers. . . . Tilling the fields and digging wells, they support themselves with their own labor; ministering benefaction and engaging things of this world in the hope of improving social mores, they know nothing about preposterous and illusionary talk. Honest and simple, they manifest the ethos handed down by the ancient recluses.7

This passage plainly indicates that the Complete Truth sect was different both from the hermits since Han times and from the practitioners of the occult arts (often esteemed by the imperial court), with all their “preposterous and illusionary talk.” The Complete Truth sect especially detested the occult rituals of earlier religious Daoism, which many Tang and Song emperors patronized. The “Xuanhe reign,” referred to in the quotation, certainly referred to the stir created by Lin Lingsu ᷇䵸㍐ (1075–1119) during the reign of 32 • Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions

the Song emperor Huizong ᆻᗭᇇ (r. 1100–1125/26). For during the several years between 1113, when Lin arrived in the Song capital, and 1119, when he was permitted to leave the emperor’s palaces, the old occult version of religious Daoism was indeed very much in the limelight. As Zhou Hui ઘ❷ (1126–?) related, “Emperor Huizong held religious Daoism in high esteem. Yellow-capped Daoists glided in and out of the imperial doors; they were styled ‘feathered guests of the golden gate.’ Swollen they all were with arrogance, with Lin Lingsu as their chief.”8 We can thus see that Wang Yun’s remark about “degeneration reaching its nadir during the Xuanhe reign” must have referred to Lin Lingsu’s Daoist sect; furthermore, Wang obviously meant to say that the rise of the Complete Truth sect represented a revolution against such occult Daoism, which the emperor embraced.9 Nevertheless, this revolution of the Complete Truth sect did not lie in shunning the world. If anything, the principles and objectives of the sect reflected an attitudinal shift from escapism to inner-worldly asceticism, as the statement by Wang Yun makes perfectly clear: “tilling fields and digging wells, they support themselves by their own labor, ministering benefaction and being receptive to things in the hope of improving social mores.” Wang Yun has also offered another exposition of the ascetic spirit of the Complete Truth sect: “The Complete Truth Daoists prohibit sleeping, calling it the dispelling of the dark demon (xiao yinmo ⎸䲠冄); they submit to hard toil, calling it “engagement in dusty labor” (da chenlao ᢃລऎ).” 10 This pedagogical method of “engagement in dusty labor” was already instituted when Wang Chongyang founded the sect. Yin Zhiping’s ቩᘇᒣ (1169–1251) Beiyou yulu े䙺䃎䤴 (Recorded conversations while on northward travels) relates: Master Changchun [Qiu Chuji ш㲅₏, 1148–1227] said: “Danyang [Ma Yu 俜䡪, 1123–1183] and I met the Master together and learned the Way from him. Allowing me not even a moment’s rest, the Master bade me to carry out exacting dusty labor, while he quietly discoursed on mystery and wonder to Danyang. One day, I eavesdropped from behind a closed door and heard the Master transmitting [to Danyang] the method of breath control by which the Valley Spirit will not expire. After a long while, I pushed the door

New Religious Daoism •

33

open and went in, and the Master immediately stopped talking. Since then, whenever I finished my dusty labor, I rigorously practiced the method I heard.” 11

One can see that there were two ways of cultivation for the Complete Truth sect: the first focused on “quiet discourses upon mystery and wonder,” which points to what Wang Pan called “understanding the mind and seeing into the nature as its fundamental concern” in one of the statements quoted earlier. The second way emphasized “engagement in dusty labor,” which corresponds to what Wang said about “abnegating the self and benefiting the world as its guide to conduct.” Although Wang Chongyang taught each disciple according to what was appropriate to his character, the final goal remained the same. Neither “understanding the mind and seeing into the nature” nor “engagement in dusty labor” can be dispensed with. Without the former, one wallows all one’s life in dusty labor, devoid of any potentiality for transcendence; without the latter, one merely guards one’s mind in a vacuum and cannot attain the truth of the Way either. Here, the following passage in Wang Zhijin’s ⦻ᘇ䅩 (1177–1263) recorded conversations is relevant: True Man Changchun [Qiu Chuji] said: “The mind exerts effort, casting away all worldly affairs; exercising its strength within the gates, the body engages vigorously in dusty labor. If a person neither exerts mental effort nor exercises his strength within the gates, will he please reflect on what kind of a person he is.” . . . Previously I spent more than ten years in Shandong, when I would keep my door shut and maintain stillness of mind all day long. However, without encountering people or without confronting situations and things, how could one test the attainments and failings of one’s mind? This was simply passing time to no purpose. Without Heaven benefiting matters, the four seasons do not run their course; without earth benefiting matters, the myriad things do not thrive. If one cannot benefit oneself and others, what meritorious work has one achieved? Hence True Man Changchun said, “While in activity one brings peace to people and benefit to things in accordance with the Way of Heaven and Earth.” 12

34 • Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions

This excerpt of a recorded conversation makes it clear that “dusty labor” is the inner-worldly “meritorious work” in which one engages in order to “benefit others.” Nevertheless, “meritorious work” itself does not entail achievement of the final objective, which still lies in attaining the Way. Yin Zhiping’s Beiyou yulu also tells how Qiu Chuji “taught men to accumulate meritorious work and engage in activity (youwei ᴹ⛪) while preserving a spirit of nonactivity (wuwei ❑⛪).” This is a very important statement, for wuwei, meaning no less than the Way, is to be manifested not in negative “quietude” but in positive “activity.” Such thinking was already present in the Complete Truth sect at the time of its establishment. Among Wang Chongyang’s fifteen discussions upon founding the sect, two may be singled out as being most closely related to the notion of inner-worldly asceticism. The twelfth discussion, “Shengdao” 㚆䚃 (Sagely Way), contends that to gain admittance to the Sagely Way, one must “temper one’s resolve through accumulating merit and good works over many years,” which simply means pursuing inner-worldly “meritorious work.” Meanwhile, the fifteenth treatise, “Li fanshi” 䴒ࠑц (Taking leave of the terrestrial world), expounds the view that taking leave of the earthly world does not mean physical but mental detachment. Taking as a metaphor for the body the lotus root, which must remain in the mud, and as a metaphor for the mind the lotus flower, which blossoms into the beauty of the void, Wang Chongyang suggests that he who has attained the Way has “his body remaining in the dusty world, but his mind wandering in the sagely realm.” 13 Indeed, this is  what is meant by engagement in inner-worldly undertakings with other-worldly spirit. Anyone who is even faintly acquainted with Calvin’s doctrines will not find it difficult to realize that Wang’s notion accords with the Calvinist idea of the “combination of practical sense and cool utilitarianism with other-worldly aims.” 14 Therefore it is not surprising that the greatest contribution to the development and expansion of the Complete Truth sect came from Qiu Chuji. Moreover, even the relatively more “quietist” Ma Yu concurred in affirming the value of “dusty labor” and conferring on inner-worldly undertakings a religious significance. For instance, the following passage is one of Ma Yu’s key statements recorded in the Panshan yulu: “If in one’s self-cultivation one cannot break through the mysterious pass, New Religious Daoism •

35

one should strive to achieve merit and virtue in the realm of activity. After prolonged assimilation, something will filter through. This is better than carrying a pole empty at both ends, unable to be either wuwei or youwei, and merely passing one’s days in the same old rut.” 15 Wuwei (taking no deliberate action) and youwei (engaging in action), of course, connote the “two ends” of the otherworldly and the innerworldly. For the common people at large, however, the “mysterious pass” of otherworldliness is much too difficult to cross; they must quest for the Way through the inner-worldly path of “achieving merit and virtue” as the only way they can avoid becoming lost at both ends. Indeed, both Ma Yu’s concern that people may “pass their days in the same old rut” and Qiu Chuji’s worry that people may “pass time to no purpose” reflect a highly noticeable state of mental tension generated by new religious movements since Tang and Song times. Indeed, Qiu’s and Ma’s statements reflect the same perception and intent as the comment of the Chan master Weishan quoted earlier, “having hoed a field and sown a basket of seeds” amounts to not having passed time “for nothing.” What is even more interesting is that the same state of mind is detectable in the Puritan ethic of seventeenth-century England. For instance, Puritans considered wasting time to be a great sin and oversleeping extremely immoral; while fulfilling their duties in the world, they had to be industrious and strive for maximum restraint from lust and gluttony. This attitude, across the continents and centuries, truly echoes the ethic of the Complete Truth sect. Weber simply lands on the opposite side of the facts of the case when his discussion of the Puritan ethic concludes that “labor” is a method of ascetic cultivation unique to Western churches, which supposedly not only forms a most acute contrast with Eastern religions but also reflects something no monastic precepts elsewhere in the world ever entertained.16 While we cannot of course criticize Weber too harshly, the lesson we should learn here is that his research methodology of formulating “ideal types” has serious intrinsic pitfalls. For no theorists or methodologists, however proficient and skillful, can avoid committing serious errors if they do not have an adequate command of empirical knowledge. There are of course points of dissimilarity between the Complete Truth sect and Chan Buddhism. From the very beginning, the innerworldly tendency of the former was more prominent; hence the influence 36 •

Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions

of the Complete Truth sect on the general social ethic of the time was more direct and profound than that of Chan Buddhism. In the Zou district in Shandong, for instance, there is a “Chongxiu Jixiangong bei” 䟽‫؞‬ 䳶‫ݸ‬ᇞ⻁ (Inscription on the reconstruction of the Assembled Immortals Temple) by Chen Yizeng 䲣㒩ᴮ, which pays special tribute to Qiu Chuji’s achievement in promoting “dusty labor”: I have heard that the way of the Complete Truth sect takes truth as its fundamental principle and simplicity as its function, handles matters with wuwei, and keeps to industrious work and frugal fare. For these reasons, literati, farmers, artisans, and merchants alike think highly of the sect, whose followers make notable achievements but not for their own private ends. . . . By the last years of the [Jurchen] Jin dynasty (1115–1234), the Central Plains was in turmoil, while the Southern Song (1127–1279) was feeble; and the heroic and valiant in the world (tianxia ཙл) were at a loss as to what to follow. . . . Nevertheless, Founding Master Chongyang and True Man Changchun, paradigms towering above the myriad, alone took it into their own hands to transform men of youwei with their teachings of wuwei, pacifying the eastern part of China so that it could await an illustrious lord, and thus became models for the world.17

The eulogistic comments—that the Complete Truth sect “keeps to industrious work and frugal fare” so that “literati, farmers, artisans, and merchants alike think highly of” it, and that Wang Chongyang and Qiu Chuji “became models for the world”—are not empty expressions of exaggerated praise but deserving commendation well borne out by the history of the Complete Truth sect. There is no question that the innerworldly reorientation of the new religions of China did possess great social significance. The True Great Way sect, too, was entirely in agreement with the Complete Truth sect in its drift into inner-worldly asceticism; in fact, its relationship with Chan Buddhism is even more evident than was the case with the Complete Truth sect. In Wang Yun’s poem upon visiting a stream at the Supreme Mystery Temple, there is a note beneath the line “Clouds seal the alms-bowl on the rock,” which relates: “There was New Religious Daoism •

37

an early occasion when Fifth Patriarch Li of the Great Way sect sought refuge among these hills. When the pursuers caught up with him, he left his robe and alms-bowl on the rock and hid himself. The objects were so heavy that none of the men could lift them up. Astonished by this, they entreated him to take charge of their sect. The present Daoist edifice was instituted by Li.” 18 Li Xicheng 䝸ᐼᡀ (1182–1259), the fifth patriarch of the True Great Way sect, lived sometime between the Jurchen Jin and Mongol Yuan dynasties; and this story about the robe and the alms-bowl is plainly a repetition of the Huineng myth in Chan Buddhism.19 As Chen Yuan 䲣ී (1880–1971) rightly observed, “The temples of the True Great Way sect were originally also called ‘an’ ᓥ (nunnery huts), their tombs also called pagodas, while its tokens of legitimate succession also included the robe and the alms-bowl, all of which were identical to those of the Buddhists. In fact, the sect at first stood somewhere between Buddhism and religious Daoism and did not belong exclusively to the latter.”20 Thus we can see that the new Chan School indeed directly influenced the sect. Information concerning the rise of the True Great Way sect is included in Wu Cheng’s ੣▴ (1249–1333) inscription for the Heavenly Treasures Temple in Xuzhou, in which the words of a Daoist of the temple were recorded: Our sect first arose in the wake of the [Jurchen] Jin army’s annexation of the Central Plains, when our founding patriarch Liu shunned the common world and became a monk. Renouncing all personal likings and desires, giving up meat and wine, he tilled and sowed industriously, providing for his own clothing and food, tolerant of hardship and adversity. Thrifty and compassionate, he set his heart on benefiting others; his precepts were solemn and his conduct unblemished. Compliantly and concordantly, people of the time bowed to his lead.21

Incidentally, it may be noted that Liu’s personal name was Deren ᗧӱ (1122–1180), showing clearly his Confucian background.22 Shortly afterward Yu Ji 㲎䳶 (1272–1348) gave an even more elaborate account of the origins of the sect and its social influence in his inscription for the eighth-generation master of the True Great Way sect: 38

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Followers of the True Great Way sect place fundamental importance in ascetic integrity and upright conduct. They do not implore others impudently, nor live in a perfunctory and extravagant manner. Indeed, they take care not to follow the ways of the vulgar world or to inflate their significance. In the days when the Jin occupied the Central Plains, valiant and talented men often refused to become involved in the affairs of the world or concerned with the devastating consequences of the war. Instead they often clothed themselves in grass and ate plants, or feigned madness and traveled alone, styling themselves with various names and putting themselves in exile among hills and lakes. At the time, the Way of the teacher and the friend had vanished, and the teachings of the sages and worthies had sunk entirely into oblivion. Only the Daoists largely managed to keep apart from the current deterioration and even exhorted people to remove the evil and recover the good within themselves. Therefore people from villages and the remote countryside all turned to the Daoist leaders in their neighborhood areas. Those who had received their instruction and admonition dispersed into commanderies and districts as wind disperses and water flows; all could labor industriously at their farm work and manage their cottages and huts, while networking with neighbors and setting up paradigms for mutual assistance and protection. Such an ethos persisted without change for a long time.23

The importance of this passage lies particularly in the fact that its description is not limited to the True Great Way sect but valid for all the newly risen Daoist sects. In addition to “laboring industriously at farm work and managing cottages and huts, while networking with neighbors and setting up paradigms for mutual assistance and protection,” all these Daoist sects managed to draw people in nearby areas to come and “receive instruction and admonition.” While there is no doubt that the origination of new religious Daoism was related to the fall of North China to alien rule at the time, the persistent developments “without change,” which these sects successively registered over a century, cannot be entirely explained from a political perspective. New Religious Daoism •

39

Regarding the expansion of the True Great Way sect, Yu Ji further stated at the end of his inscription: [Yue’s] disciples said that west beyond the Guan and Long Mountains as far as Shu, east toward Qi and Lu as far as the shores of the sea, south reaching beyond the Yangzi and Huai Rivers, there were followers everywhere who revered his teachings. They were all tolerant of adversity and laborious in work. Solemnly offering sacrifices with incense and candles, they piously looked forward to doing obeisance morning and dusk, day in and day out, revering their True Man of a master as a god. For they believed that one who was without high spiritual attainment and virtue was unlikely to shoulder the responsibilities entailed by his position. Moreover, the True Man often dispatched assistants to travel to the areas south of the Yangzi River. Those who went around registering followers numbered more than three thousand, while the sect’s convents and temples numbered four hundred; from these the rest is estimable.

Part of the reason the True Great Way sect spread so extensively was certainly that its doctrines suited the needs of people living in an age of upheaval quite well. Song Lian’s ᆻ◲ (1310–1381) essay on the sect’s founder enumerates nine of the original doctrines of the sect: First, regard other persons and things as you regard yourself; do not nurse any bad or malevolent intention. Second, be loyal to your ruler, filial to your parents, and sincere to your fellow men; have no flowery words in your expressions and no malicious notes in your speech. Third, remove evil and lust; abide by purity and tranquility. Fourth, keep away from power, and be content with destitution; farm strenuously for your food, and live within your means. Fifth, do not gamble and do not steal. Sixth, do not drink or eat meat; do not be boastful or extravagant if you acquire enough for clothing and food. Seventh, empty your mind and weaken your ambitions; soften your brilliance and become one with the dusty world. Eighth, do not count on violence and

40

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Part I: The Inner-Worldly Reorientation of Chinese Religions

fierceness; glory lies in humility and respectfulness. Ninth, be content and you will suffer no disgrace; know when to stop and you will be free from danger.24

Apart from the last three precepts from the Laozi, the rest are all akin to the inner-worldly teachings of Confucianism, particularly highlighting loyalty, filial piety, industriousness, and frugality as fundamental principles. In addition, the “Dadao Yanxiangguan bei” བྷ䚃ᔦ⾕㿰⻁ (Inscription for the Yanxiang Temple of the True Great Way sect), written by Zhao Qinglin 䏉␵⩣ and erected in 1289, also records the basic doctrines propounded by “True Man Liu,” the founding patriarch of the sect. Being close in time to original historical materials, this inscription is even more reliable: His teaching takes wuwei and tranquility as its objective, truthfulness, constancy, compassion, and frugality as its crowning virtues. His precepts include not only abstinence from lust, desires, killing, drinking, and eating meat, but also cultivating humaneness in the heart, relieving destitute people, eliminating quarrels, harboring no selfish ill-will, abiding by one’s duties, engaging in no mendicancy, tilling the fields, and growing mulberry trees to provide for the daily needs of food and clothing. On one occasion, he suffered from a disease against which talismans, herbs, acupuncture, and moxibustion had had no effect, but he managed to recover simply through praying silently to the Void. Subsequently, he was able to cure diseases and exorcize evil elements for other people. In his daily life, he always remained serene and did not engage in diverse pursuits. He said that the crafts of ascension and alchemy, matters of immortality and lasting perception, were beyond his comprehension. For his part, he simply paid obeisance to Heaven and Earth with incense mornings and evenings. Therefore people near and far willingly became his followers, and not a few of them erected temples in their localities.25

On the one hand, the latter half of the inscription makes it clear that like the Complete Truth sect, the True Great Way sect also represented New Religious Daoism •

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a revolt against the official religious Daoism of the Tang and Song periods because these new sects did not depend on occult arts for its appeal to the people. On the other hand, the first half of the passage depicts a typical religious ethic of inner-worldly asceticism that not only differs little from the ethic of the Complete Truth sect but also shares in its precepts not a few points of similarity with the Puritan ethic. Chen Yuan especially highlighted “engagement in no mendicancy” as the characteristic of the True Great Way sect;26 nevertheless, this may well be a further development of the Monastic Rules of Baizhang. After all, “tilling the fields and growing mulberry trees to provide for the daily needs of food and clothing” is a concrete expression of the principle of “one day no work, one day no food.” Chan Buddhism, however, did not terminate its practice of mendicancy altogether after the death of Baizhang Huaihai. We noted earlier that the True Great Way sect was from its beginning closely related to Chan Buddhism; however, the fact that “engagement in no mendicancy” was one of the founding precepts indicates how far the sect advanced beyond Chan Buddhism in terms of the value placed on inner-worldly asceticism. Due to the limitation of space and materials, our present investigation cannot examine in detail other sects of new religious Daoism, such as the Supreme Unity (Taiyi ཚа) and Purity-Illumination (Jingming ␘᰾) sects. Broadly speaking, however, these two sects also share the same strong inner-worldly inclination. According to Wang Yun’s account of a statement made by an adherent to the Supreme Unity sect, Although Daoists are usually fond of mystery and silence, the sectarian discipline of the Supreme Unity sect is specifically based on fostering honesty and sincerity in human relations and advancing teachings pertaining to this world. When master and disciples assemble, the relationship appears to be distant, but is in fact intimate; in the process of transmission and reception, it merges into the bond that exists between father and son.27

This inner-worldly character of the Supreme Unity sect’s ethic requires no further explanation. 42

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What needs clarification is perhaps the statement, “in the process of transmission and reception,” the relationship between master and disciple “merges into the bond that exists between father and son.” Xiao Baozhen 㮝ᣡ⧽ (d. 1166), the founding patriarch of the Supreme Unity sect, laid down the special rule that successors to the lineage had to change their name to Xiao. Thus the original family name of the second patriarch Xiao Daoxi 㮝䚃⟉ was Han, and that of the third patriarch Xiao Zhichong 㮝ᘇ⋆ was Wang. Chen Yuan thought that this practice represented “an imitation of the Buddhist model,” which required every Buddhist monk or nun to adopt the character shi 䟻 as his or her surname. However, the reference to “the bond that exists between father and son” suggests that this is more likely a borrowing from the patriarchal clan system of Confucianism, intended here to tighten the organization of the religious sect. Besides, if this practice were indeed “an imitation of the Buddhist model,” all the Daoists of the sect would have adopted the name Xiao, which does not seem to be the case. Regarding the Purity-Illumination sect, it was founded by Liu Yu ࢹ ⦹ (1257–1308) in 1297. One of his dialogues is particularly relevant here: Someone asked: “There have been numerous gateways to the ultimate reality. Why does this sect singularly name purity, illumination, loyalty and filial piety?” The teacher replied: “I have no explanation other than what follows: Purity and illumination merely mean rectifying the mind and making the will sincere; loyalty and filial piety merely refer to fostering the human bonds and constant virtues. It’s just that these days Confucians have become so accustomed to these words that they overlook their significance. Here, however, we are engaged in real practice.”28

Here we can see that the Purity-Illumination sect even goes so far as to adopt explicitly Confucian ethics as the basis of its own religion. In this respect, the Purity-Illumination sect certainly belongs, together with the other three sects described earlier, to the new wave of religious Daoism; its primary characteristic was an emphasis on the everyday practice of the ethic advocated.29 Nonetheless, with reference to the Supreme Unity sect, we should point out one blatant difference between it and the Complete Truth and New Religious Daoism •

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True Great Way sects. According to two pieces of Wang Yun’s writings, the Supreme Unity sect had enjoyed from the outset the patronage of prestigious clans and wealthy families.30 Hence the ancestors of the second and third patriarchs were initially followers who contributed all their assets to the furtherance of the sect’s cause. The appeal of the Complete Truth sect, on the contrary, was much stronger to the poor people, as is clearly borne out by Yuan Haowen’s statement, “idle and weak people compliantly submitted to them.”31 This difference in economic background perhaps explains why the Supreme Unity sect did not emphasize the principle of “living on one’s own labor.”32 Overall, the rise and development of the various sects of new religious Daoism amply display an important fact: since the time of new Chan Buddhism, the Chinese religious ethic had been consistently turning in the direction of inner-worldly asceticism. Most historians of religious Daoism have recognized that new religious Daoism was popular religion and that its new religious ethic gradually penetrated the various strata of society. Since Southern Song times, Daoist morality tracts (shanshu ழᴨ), such as the Taishang ganying pian ཚкᝏ៹ㇷ (Book of divine responses to human conduct), never ceased to be published and widely distributed. This important historical phenomenon, concomitant to the development of new religious Daoism, contributed significantly to the dissemination of the new ethic among the common people.33 In its affirmation of this world and the importance of quotidian existence, the ethic of new religious Daoism certainly advanced a step beyond the threshold reached by new Chan Buddhism. While Chan masters recognized that “having hoed a strip of soil and sowed a basket of seeds” amounts to not passing time to no purpose and that as in “chopping firewood and carrying water—there is nothing wherein the wonderful Way does not lie,” they could not yet grant that “serving one’s father and ruler” is also the “wonderful Way.” Expressed in modern parlance, Chan Buddhists were still unable to affirm the positive value of social organization. The new religious Daoist sects, however, inherited the orientation of inner-worldly asceticism initiated by the new Chan School, on the one hand, and incorporated the influence of Confucian learning, on the other hand. Consequently, they advanced another step further to talk about “serving one’s father and ruler.” The True Great Way sect “specifically based itself on fostering honesty and 44

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sincerity in human relations and furthering teachings pertaining to this world,” and the Purity-Illumination sect founded its teaching on “loyalty and filial piety.” Such strong evidence clearly attests to their innerworldly orientation but also reflects new religious Daoism’s move toward the “union of the Three Teachings.” That Wang Chongyang, in expounding the fundamental purpose and main themes of his teachings, based himself from the outset on the three classical texts—the Xiaojing (Classic of filial piety), the Daodejing (of Laozi), and the Heart Sutra—is an especially revealing gesture of symbolic significance.34 In evaluating the new religious Daoist ethic’s extensive influence on Chinese popular beliefs, one particularly noteworthy notion is that heavenly immortals often must descend to the terrestrial world, go through a period of trial, and accomplish their vocation in the human realm before they could “attain proper karmic fruit” and “return to an immortal status.” (Consider the example of Xie Yuhui 䅍⦹䕍 in the strung lyrics of Yuchuan yuan ⦹䠗㐓 [Predestined relationship of the jade bracelet]). At the same time, terrestrial people must also first “accomplish good deeds” and “establish meritorious conduct” in the human realm before they could hope to become immortals. Part 1 of the Taishang ganying pian articulated this notion in popular terms: “What we call good people . . . [are those] whose deeds always accomplish something benevolent, and who may one day become immortals. Those who hope to become heavenly immortals must accumulate thirteen hundred good deeds, while those who want to become earthly immortals must accumulate three hundred.” A remote source for this later notion of immortals descending into the terrestrial world to undergo a period of trial might be the Complete Truth sect’s “engagement in dusty labor” and Qiu Chuji’s question, “Without confronting situations and things, how can the attainments and failings of one’s mind be tested?” Other early propositions about accomplishing good deeds as a means to becoming an immortal would include Ma Yu’s instruction to “strive to establish merit and virtue in the realm of youwei, so that after prolonged assimilation, something will filter through”; and Qiu Chuji’s teaching to “accumulate meritorious work and engage in youwei while preserving a spirit of wuwei.” Such notions no doubt intended to make people take their vocations in this world seriously and to invest work in the secular world with a religious significance. In sum, New Religious Daoism • 45

fulfilment of one’s duties in the human world had become the only guaranteed way to transcendence and liberation. On the level of social function, at least, it is probably no exaggeration to say that such proclamations share some common ground with the Protestant belief about a “calling.”

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P ART II NEW DEVELOPMENTS IN  THE CONFUCIAN ETHIC

I

n a strict sense, the question of “inner-worldly reorientation” does not quite arise in the case of Confucianism, which has always been an inner-worldly teaching. Nevertheless, from Han Yu and Li Ao ᵾ㘡 (774–836) to both the School of Principle and the School of Mind in the Song and Ming dynasties, Confucianism did indeed enter a new historical phase. These two “schools of thought,” along with their precursors since the late Tang period, are primarily what some modern scholars label “Neo-Confucianism.” [See editor’s introduction for why that conventional rubric is problematic and why this book is using “new Confucianism” instead.] In discussing the issue of religious reorientation in part I, I emphasized the historical significance of new Chan Buddhism since the time of Huineng ភ㜭 (638–713). In fact, if we want to locate a movement in Chinese history that corresponds to the “Protestant ethic” reform delineated by Max Weber, we could present the development from Chan Buddhism to new Confucianism as an approximate equivalent. This movement originated in Buddhism because, as the mainstream of Chinese thought and belief in the Tang dynasty, Buddhism occupied a central position in the daily life of most Chinese people. We shall now

proceed to explore the following question: Is there some connection between the new Confucianism first advocated by Han Yu and Li Ao and the reorientation of Buddhism? And if so, what is the nature of the relationship?

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[3] T HE R ISE

N EW C ONFUCIANISM AND THE I NFLUENCE OF C HAN B UDDHISM

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OF

lthough Confucianism has always been an inner-worldly teaching, the Confucian scholarship pursued during the Tang dynasty was out of joint with the daily life of the Chinese people. Judging from the “Ruxue zhuan” ݂ᆨۣ (Biographies of Confucian scholars) in both (Old and New) Histories of the Tang Dynasty, Tang Confucian scholarship was nothing more than a continuation of the tedious, pedantic textual studies of the Northern and Southern Dynasties. As far as the study of the Confucian classics is concerned, there were still a fair number of specialists working on the three ritual classics (Zhouli, Yili, and Liji). This, too, reflected the ethos of the Northern and Southern Dynasties, as well as the importance attached to matters of ritual propriety accorded to clan and family status.1 However, with the gradual decline of the prestigious aristocratic families after the An Lushan rebellion in the mid-eighth century, ritualistic studies (associated with maintaining the model of prestigious aristocratic families) lost much of their practical meaning. Regarding the rituals and music employed at ancestral temples and court functions, Ouyang Xiu ↀ䲭‫؞‬ (1007–1072) complained, “From the [ancient] Three Dynasties on, government has always been based on rites and music, but these had also become empty names [by Tang times].”2 In other words, rites and music simply bore no relation whatsoever to real life.

It was in this context that Han Yu wrote his epoch-making essay, “Yuan Dao” ৏䚃 (An inquiry on the Way), in which he expressed his ardent wish to restore the validity of Confucianism as a comprehensive guide to the social life of the Chinese people. Thus he proclaimed: What is meant by the teachings of the former kings? To love universally is called humaneness; to practice it in the proper manner is called righteousness. To proceed accordingly is the Way; to be sufficient in oneself without dependence on external things is called virtue. The literature of the former kings consisted of the classic books of Odes, History, Changes, and the Spring and Autumn Annals; their methods included rules of propriety, music, laws, and administrative measures. Their people comprised scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants; their social relationships embraced those between ruler and minister, father and son, teacher and friend, host and guest, elder and younger brother, and husband and wife. Their clothing was made of hemp and silk; their dwellings were halls and houses; their food consisted of grain and rice, fruit and vegetables, fish and meat. As expressions of the Way, theirs were easy to practice.3

In Han Yu’s judgment, the Way of Confucianism is all-pervasive and all-embracing; indeed, only a Dao or “Way” of such nature would truly be able to replace Buddhism and Daoism. Thus in an ancient-style poem written in repudiation of religious Daoism, Han Yu declared a similar point: There is a constant principle in human life; Men and women have their respective concerns. Putting on clothes when cold and eating when hungry— These depend on spinning and weaving, ploughing and weeding: Below, to protect one’s children and grandchildren; Above, to serve one’s lord and parents. If one deviates from this Way, One all but gives up on oneself!4

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Seen as a whole, what Han Yu advocated was precisely what Song and Ming new Confucians later called the Confucian learning of “human ethics in everyday activities,” in contrast to the ritual studies prevalent since the Northern and Southern Dynasties, with their focus on textual matters and social proprieties among the prestigious families. From this perspective, we can regard Han Yu’s efforts in a certain sense as representative of an “inner-worldly reorientation” of Confucianism, that is, an attempt to make Confucianism a “teaching of this world” in reality and not just in name. Such a reorientation was certainly inspired by the example of new Chan Buddhism. Chen Yinke 䲣ᇵᚚ (1890–1969) expressed sound judgment when he argued that Han Yu’s “pointing straight to human relations and sweeping aside the tedious trivialities of textual matters” took its cue from Chan Buddhism’s “goal of pointing straight to the human mind and seeing into one’s nature to become a Buddha.”5 Even though new Confucians from Han Yu to his Song successors zealously sought to repudiate Buddhism, we are here at the same time emphasizing that the development of new Confucianism was rooted in new Chan Buddhism’s inner-worldly spirit, which new Confucians adapted. Is there any fundamental contradiction between these two propositions? There really is none. For although Chan Buddhism had already recognized that “carrying water and chopping firewood” embodied “magical power and its wonderful application” and even admitted that “the various means of livelihood are all good Dharma,” they did not, and never could, alter their fundamental attitude of negating and renouncing “this world.” It is revealing that they still could not squarely affirm the validity of “serving one’s father and ruler” in the world of human relations, which Confucians have always held to be of primary importance. The utmost to which Buddhists could express agreement was not to undermine the “teachings of this world.” For instance, Dazhao བྷ➗, a disciple of Shenhui ⾎ᴳ, said in his discussion of doctrines regarding opening the heart/mind, manifesting the nature, sudden enlightenment, and true essence: “As far as the myriad things in the phenomenal world are concerned, propositions about ruler and minister, father and mother, humaneness, righteousness, propriety, and faithfulness, constitute Dharma of the common world, and nothing

The Rise of New Confucianism •

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rotten at all. Thus the sutras say, ‘One enters into Nirvana without ruining the Dharma of the common world.’ If one ruins the Dharma of the common world, one is merely a vulgar person.”6 It was in this context that Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩ (1130–1200) repeatedly criticized Buddhism’s “subterfuge” in paying lip service to the “teachings of this world”: From the beginning, the Buddhists’ elucidation of principles was aberrant, but not because their discussion, with elaborate use of analogies, was not extensive. In the final analysis, they deviate from the proper Way, for they discard human relations and take the affairs of the world as illusory. Subsequently, however, they discovered that their ways could not work, and when they reached a dead end, they then proposed to change course. For instance, they say that securing a livelihood and engaging in production do not go against fundamental reality. Isn’t this only a subterfuge?7

Similarly, he argued: “While the Buddhists do not recognize father and mother, they nevertheless speak of a Father and Mother Sutra. This is all subterfuge.”8 To locate Zhu Xi’s reference more specifically, the statement “securing a livelihood and engaging in production do not go against fundamental reality” came in fact from Yunmen Wenyan 䴢䮰᮷‫( ٳ‬864–949), as found in the Wudeng huiyuan (juan 15). It is thus evident that new Confucians aimed at proceeding a step beyond where Chan Buddhism had stopped; in other words, Confucians inclusively affirmed the reality of human relations and inner-worldly matters rather than any supposed illusoriness. In this light, the fundamental direction and goal of new Confucianism remained diametrically opposite to that of Chan Buddhism. Yet in terms of the entire historical process, the impact of Chan Buddhism’s “inner-worldly reorientation” served as a spark for the inner-worldly momentum of the new Confucian movement. Making a demarcation between Confucianism and Buddhism, Han Yu complained in his “An Inquiry on the Way”: What the ancients meant by rectifying the mind and making the will sincere was to be realized in activity (youwei). However, [the

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Buddhists] seek to govern their minds, but they do it by eliminating the world, the state, and the family. They destroy the Heavenendowed norms of human relations, so that the son does not regard his father as father, the minister does not regard his ruler as ruler, and the people do not regard their vocations as vocations.

Han Yu was the first among the Confucians to discover new meaning in the classic Great Learning. This treatise proceeds directly and systematically from rectifying the mind and making the will sincere to cultivating the personal life, regulating the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the world, thus linking up the internal and external with a consistent sense of purpose. Although rectifying the mind and making the will sincere constitute the fundamental ground of Buddhism, the mind in Buddhism is “governed” for the sake of renouncing “this world.” However, the purpose of “governing the mind” in the Great Learning is a diametrically opposite one, that is, it is a preparation for “entering into the world” and “assisting the world.” By taking the theme of “governing the mind” as the starting point in his undertaking to rejuvenate Confucianism, Han Yu no doubt endeavored to outwit Buddhism on its own terms. I shall content myself with this observation for the time being, for there will be occasion for further elaboration later in my discussion. Yet Han Yu’s endeavor to defeat Buddhism on its own ground involved far more. He continued in “An Inquiry on the Way”: What kind of Way is this? I reply: what I mean by the Way is not what is commonly regarded as the Way among Daoists and Buddhists. The Way is what Yao ๟ transmitted to Shun 㡌, Shun transmitted Yu ⿩, Yu transmitted to Tang ⒟, and Tang transmitted to King Wen ᮷, King Wu ↖, and the Duke of Zhou ઘ‫ޜ‬. King Wen, King Wu, and the Duke of Zhou transmitted it to Confucius, and Confucius transmitted it to Mencius. With the death of Mencius, the Way was transmitted no more.

This is the famous Confucian theory of cultural orthodoxy. Remarkably enough, however, no one before Han Yu had explicitly proposed this kind of “orthodoxy” that was transmitted personally The Rise of New Confucianism •

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from generation to generation, or from era to era. Where then did he acquire such a concept? Chen Yinke supplied a clear explanation: Tuizhi (䘰ѻ) [Han Yu] followed his brother upon the latter’s banishment to Shaozhou. Although he was quite young and did not live there for long, the place where he lived was the birthplace of new Chan Buddhism. Moreover, it was a time when the new teaching was extremely popular. With his precocious intelligence, it is not possible for Tuizhi not to have been receptive and inspired amid an environment and atmosphere pervaded by the teaching of new Chan Buddhism. This being the case, although Tuizhi’s statement on orthodoxy seemed on the face of it to have been inspired by the words in the last chapter of the Mencius, it was really prompted by the Chan legend of a separate transmission outside of the scriptures. The influence of Chan Buddhism on Tuizhi was great indeed!9

The so-called separate transmission outside the scriptures refers to the fifth patriarch Hongren’s ᕈᗽ (601–674) transmission of the robe and Dharma to Huineng: “This robe shall be the testimony, to be transmitted from generation to generation. The Dharma is to be transmitted from mind to mind; let people achieve enlightenment by themselves.” 10 Beginning with Huineng, not only the Dharma but also the robe was transmitted.11 Later, Song Confucians went a step further than Han Yu, whence arose the legend of the transmission of the mind at Shun’s court. In another famous essay entitled “On the Teacher,” Han Yu wrote: Scholars in ancient times always had teachers. A teacher is one who transmits the Way, imparts knowledge, and resolves perplexities. Since people are not born with knowledge, who can be without perplexities? If in confusion one does not follow the guidance of a teacher, perplexities cannot finally be resolved. There are those born before me who heard the Way before me, and I shall, of course, regard them as my teachers. However, if there are those born after me who heard the Way before me, I shall regard them as my teachers, too. For what I regard as my teacher is the Way.

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Who cares whether a person was born before or after me? Thus no question of being highborn or lowly, aged or young, comes into consideration; where the Way abides, there my teacher abides. Alas, it has been a long time since the transmission of the proper way of regarding teachers was lost. How difficult it is for people not to be perplexed these days!12

To understand the background of Han Yu’s essay, we must first briefly acquaint ourselves with the degenerate state of the Way of the teacher in Tang Confucianism. The writings of two of Han Yu’s contemporaries may serve to explicate the situation with teachers during the Tang. In a preface, Liu Zongyuan ḣᇇ‫( ݳ‬773–819) wrote: “In today’s world people laugh at those whom others call their teachers. The whole world has no need for teachers, and so the Way has become more remote from us.” 13 Nevertheless, what Lü Wen ੲⓛ (771–811) expressed in a letter focused on the Spring and Autumn Annals is even more deeply grievous in tone: Since the Wei-Jin period, the general ethos has greatly degenerated. Students all consider having no teacher as Heaven’s indulgence, and studying alone as being born with knowledge. They prepare annotations and commentaries, fussing about the pronunciation of individual characters, clinging to their doubts and defending their errors, and striding headlong into devious heresies as their idiosyncratic thoughts dictate. They take the recitation of phrases and passages to be the quintessence, and pedantic digging into individual words to be erudition. As for the profound purposes of the sages and worthies, the great fundamentals of edification, the order of human relations, the sources of the kingly way, such students cannot distinguish either heads or tails. Those already advanced along the path also consider teaching as something despicable; ministers and high officials are all ashamed to be teachers. This is so true that, in fact, the faces of those elderly men in the provincial schools would abruptly change color when called “Master.” It is distressing that custom and mores have changed men like this!14

The Rise of New Confucianism • 55

Clearly, there were only “teachers of phrases and passages” in Tang Confucianism, but Tang society would despise any “teacher who sought to transmit the Way.” Furthermore, the so-called teacherstudent relationship to which the upper echelons of Tang society attached much importance was simply an “examiner-graduate” relationship within the civil service examination system. Such a “teacher,” tied to political self-interests, had nothing whatsoever to do with the “Way” of Confucianism.15 The “teacher” for which Han Yu yearned to “transmit the Way, impart knowledge, and resolve perplexities,” was also modeled on the teacherpupil relationship in Chan Buddhism. The teacher in Chan identified as being one with the Way and presented as the direct opposite to the “teacher” of “words” and “phrases.” Yet during the time of Han Yu and Lü Wen, the kind of “teacher who transmitted the Way” could not be found within the Confucian sphere but only in new Chan Buddhism where the Dharma was “transmitted from mind to mind.” Furthermore, Han Yu’s essay on the teacher repeatedly emphasized the need to “resolve perplexities,” which even more obviously points to Chan’s frequently discussed “perplexities” that required resolution before one could attain “enlightenment.” Thus a proclamation of Bodhidharma 㨙ᨀ䚄᪙ (483–540) runs, “I set off for this land to transmit the Dharma and liberate perplexed feelings.” Later Chan monks echoed his assertion: “Bodhidharma came east just to find a person who was not perplexed by other people.” In this light, what Han Yu called “transmitting the Way” and “resolving perplexities” is simply another way of expressing the Buddhist intent of “transmitting the Dharma to liberate from perplexities”; therefore it is yet another feat of his endeavor to thwart Buddhism on its own ground. Besides the fact that the overall spirit of Han Yu’s essay “On the Teacher” borrowed from Chan Buddhism, there are also two specific viewpoints that developed out of the inspiration Han Yu received from the rival religion. The first is the proposition, “No question of being highborn or lowly, aged or young, comes into consideration; where the Way abides, there the teacher abides.” Disregard for social station was a characteristic of Chan Buddhism since the time of Huineng. Indeed, as an illiterate southern “barbarian” from distant Lingnan himself, Huineng

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commanded general reverence from the literati and common folk alike— only after he had attained the Way. Not surprisingly, the transmission of the Way in Huineng’s Chan differed from that in Shenxiu’s ⾎⿰ (ca. 606–706) Northern Chan School, in that Huineng’s dispensed with any “consideration of social nobility or humble origins,” as well as any reliance on the special support of the royal house and upper aristocratic echelons.16 In a similar vein, transmission “without consideration of difference in age” also became another characteristic of new Chan Buddhism. One example is the case of the monk Yinzong ঠᇇ (627–713), who was lecturing on the Nirvana Sutra in the Faxing Monastery ⌅ᙗሪ in Guangzhou when “he met Great Master Huineng, the sixth patriarch; only then was he enlightened to the abstruse principles of reality, and so he submitted to Huineng as his Dharma teacher.” 17 This happened notwithstanding the fact that Yinzong was eleven years Huineng’s senior; moreover, later generations of Chan Buddhists repeatedly portrayed instances of disciples being older than their masters.18 There seems little question that Han Yu’s conviction that “where the Way abides” is “where the teacher abides,” irrespective of position or age, was indeed derived from Chan Buddhism. Our second observation concerns the argument in the latter half of “On the Teacher”: “The pupil does not have to be inferior to the teacher, and the teacher does not have to be superior to the pupil.” Once again this was related to the ethos of Chan Buddhism, although Han Yu quoted Confucius’s saying about “having no definite teacher” as the prima facie basis of his own argument. Hence Weishan Lingyou ▉ኡ䵸⾀ (773–853), a contemporary of Han Yu, once remarked, “If a pupil’s perception equals that of his teacher, his attainment shall be half of his teacher’s; only when his perception surpasses that of his teacher is he worth instructing at all.” 19 In Chan recorded conversations and general usage of later times, the expression “perception surpassing that of his teacher” was sometimes rendered “wisdom surpassing that of his  teacher”; nonetheless, the meaning remains the same.20 Hence in this saying we may perceive the intellectual origins of Han Yu’s declaration, “The pupil does not have to be inferior to the teacher.” (Of course, Han Yu did not have to pick up this idea directly from Weishan, who might have been quoting a popular saying of the new Chan School.)

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Overall, there is little doubt that Chan Buddhism provoked Confucian literati, like Han Yu and Lü Wen, into endeavoring to re-establish for Confucianism the dignity of the Way of the teacher.21 Although Han Yu and Lü Wen did not manage to achieve conspicuous results during their own lifetime, their labor finally came to fruition under the persistent efforts of the early Song Confucians, beginning with Hu Yuan 㜑⪇ (993–1059). Among these Song Confucians, the contributions of the brothers Cheng Hao 〻井 (Mingdao ᰾䚃, 1032–1085) and Cheng Yi 〻乔 (Yichuan Ժᐍ, 1033–1007) are especially remarkable. Consider a passage in the recorded conversations of the Cheng brothers: “He who knows well how to cultivate himself does not worry that his innate qualities might not be superior, but that his teacher’s learning might not prove illuminating. . . . If his teacher’s learning is not illuminating, then although he may have the requisite qualities to be enlightened to the Way, who will bring them to full blossoming?”22 This, of course, came directly from the concern of Han Yu and Lü Wen for the Confucian Way of the teacher and thus indirectly reflects the influence of new Chan Buddhism. A similar impulse is evident in what Cheng Hao once said to his younger brother: “The one who can manage someday to establish the dignity of the Way of the teacher is you. As for guiding young scholars, bringing talents to maturity each according to his capacity, I would say I am not inferior.”23 At the same time, the Song new Confucians’ method of “transmitting the Way” was also directly influenced by developments in new Chan Buddhism. Thus Yan Gengwang ೤㙅ᵋ (1916–1996) fully confirmed that the origins of academies in the Song dynasty were closely related to the Buddhist monasteries of the Tang dynasty, not a few of which were the conglin monasteries of Chan Buddhism.24 In addition, as also noted in part I, the Monastic Rules of Baizhang were in due course adopted by new religious Daoism. Now we need to proceed to elucidate the paradigmatic effect the Monastic Rules of Baizhang had on new Confucians. In this connection, one modern scholar has already pointed out that there was indeed some relationship between Baizhang’s Conglin Monastery system and the organization of Song academies. Unfortunately, his observation is a speculative one inferred from the general situation of the era but uncorroborated by concrete evidence.25 58

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I shall cite two pieces of direct evidence in support of this contention. According to Lü Benzhong ੲᵜѝ (1084–1145), “Once Master Mingdao visited a Chan monastery. It was mealtime, and witnessing the lively spectacle of the monks moving along, advancing, bowing and deferring to one another, he sighed in admiration and said, ‘The dignity of the Three Dynasties is present here.’ ”26 Here we witness Cheng Hao openly expressing his admiration for the Conglin Monastery system.27 That he went so far as to describe the Chan institutional organization with the praise “the dignity of the Three Dynasties is present here” certainly indicates his intention to imitate it. Nevertheless, although the two Cheng brothers engaged in lecturing on a private basis, there was in their day no formal establishment of a particularly new Confucian academy (as distinct from academies established by the Song government). It remained for Lü Zuqian ੲ⾆䅉 (1137–1181), Zhu Xi, and Lu Xiangshan 䲨䊑ኡ (Lu Jiuyuan ҍ␥, 1139–1193), along with Lu’s brothers, to take the academy as a base for promoting their new Confucian learning. In this context, the following conversational exchange between Zhu Xi and Lu Zishou 䲨ᆀ༭ (Lu Jiuling 䲨ҍ喑, 1132–1180) takes on special significance: Lu Zishou remarked: “In olden times infants were taught from the day they could speak and eat. They learned a wide range of things, from sprinkling and sweeping the floor to the art of repartee. Thus it was easy to speak to them [about serious things] after they had grown up. Nowadays, people teach children to make parallel couplets from early childhood onward, and to compose phony, absurd essays when they are grown up a little more. All these [practices] corrupt their nature and innate qualities. I once harbored the idea of setting down regulations for elementary learning, so that people will have a proper method of teaching children from their infancy on. This way it should be beneficial.” Teacher [Zhu Xi] replied: “Just model your regulations on the Chanyuan qinggui ⿚㤁␵㾿 (Monastic rules of the Chan community), and that will be fine.”28

Because the Monastic Rules of Baizhang were largely lost by the Northern Song, Changlu Zongze 䮧㰶ᇇ䌮 (d. ca. 1107) compiled the Monastic The Rise of New Confucianism •

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Rules of the Chan Community, with a preface dated 1103. Zongze felt compelled to make a new compilation based on Baizhang’s original intentions, along with his own additions and deletions; moreover, his compilation is of utmost importance because of its influence on later Chan generations, as well as on Japanese Chan Buddhism.29 Since it was during the early years of the Southern Song that his book began circulating, the fact that Zhu Xi already studied it in detail shows his close and constant attention to the development of Chan Buddhism. Even Zhu and Lu, who represented the two main schools of Southern Song new Confucianism, proposed to take the Monastic Rules of the Buddhist Community as the model in establishing their own Confucian rules of learning. This fact alone suffices to indicate how intimately the rise of new Confucianism connected to the inner-worldly reorientation of Buddhism.

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[4] E STABLISHING THE “ W ORLD H EAVEN ’ S P RINCIPLES ”

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The “Other World” of New Confucianism

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he greatest difference between new Confucianism and the old Confucianism of the Wei-Jin through the Sui-Tang periods was in the emergence of a theory of mind and inner nature. Although Han Yu was the first to advocate the revival of the Confucian Way, he did not contribute anything to the development of a theory of mind and inner nature. Judging from his discussion of human nature and feelings in his essay “Yuan xing” ৏ᙗ (An inquiry on human nature),1 it is obvious that he was still at a considerable distance from what the Song new Confucians would call “driving with a whip so that one may get nearer to the inside” (bianpi jinli ䷝䗏䘁㻿). Zhu Xi succinctly explained: By the time of Emperor Tang Zhongzong ୀѝᇇ (r. 707–710), Chan Buddhism of the sixth patriarch emerged and directed its efforts specifically at cultivating the self by aiming straight at seeking the mind and seeing into one’s nature. The upshot was that once the literati started looking into their inner being, everyone followed this trend. If Han Yu had early on expended any effort at all on inner cultivation, he would have promptly fallen into the tangles of Chan Buddhism.2

During the time of Han Yu, Chan Buddhism was most distinguished for its efforts to cultivate the mind and inner nature, an endeavor virtually missing in Tang Confucianism. Herein lay the appeal of new Chan Buddhism to scholars and officials living in the secular world, for “seeking the mind and seeing into the nature” provided them with a final spiritual recourse where they might “settle themselves and establish their existence” (anshen liming ᆹ䓛・ભ). Zhu Xi considered it fortunate that Han Yu had not probed deeply into his “inner being,” for otherwise, Chan Buddhism would inevitably have won him over. Such a view is not without its reason, for Han Yu did express great admiration for the monk Dadian བྷ事.3 Therefore, to recapture spiritual ground from Buddhist hands, new Confucians really had no other option—except to develop their own theory of mind and inner nature. It was in this context that Song and Ming new Confucianism took shape. Moreover, the pioneer in the Confucian exploration of a theory of mind and inner nature was Li Ao ᵾ㘡 (772–841), a contemporary of Han Yu. Author of three “Fu xing shu” ᗙᙗᴨ (Essays on the recovery of the nature),4 Li Ao started out by taking the Doctrine of the Mean and the Commentaries on the Book of Changes as a basis for establishing a Confucian teaching of mind and nature. Although his perspective was not entirely free from Buddhist influence, his pioneering contributions are undeniable.5 Compared with Han Yu, in fact, Li Ao’s endeavor to beat the Buddhists on their own ground posed a far more serious threat to the new Chan School; it was precisely because of this that later Chan followers fabricated the story of Li’s final subjugation by Chan monk Yaoshan Weiyan 㰕ኡᜏ‫( ݬ‬745– 827).6 Since Li Ao’s “Essays on the Recovery of the Nature” originated from a determination to overcome Buddhism on its own terms, it is not in the least surprising that his points of contention remained somewhat entangled with Buddhism. Indeed, the new Confucian theory of mind and inner nature really came into its own only during the Song dynasty. Nevertheless, we may perceive here an important historical fact: the greatest influence new Chan Buddhism exerted on new Confucianism was not regarding “this shore,” but the “other shore.” As a so-called thisworldly teaching rooted from the very beginning in “this shore,” Confucianism obviously had no need to depend on Buddhism for inspiration in dealing with the terrestrial world. Since the Northern and Southern 62 •

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Dynasties, however, almost all Buddhist followers, as well as the Confucian literati, agreed that Confucianism only attended to “this shore” to the complete neglect of the “other shore.” In terms of the customary language of Song Confucians, this meant that traditional Confucianism possessed “function” but no “substance,” dealt with “events” but not “principles”—which was certainly an extremely serious issue. A Chan monk, Zhiyuan Ცൃ (976–1022), explained: Confucians provide teachings regarding the body, so they call theirs “external classics”; Buddhists cultivate teaching of the mind, so we call ours “internal classics.” Amid their hustle and bustle, can the common people’s concerns go beyond those of the body and the mind? So are they Confucians, or are they Buddhists? Who knows whether the two are not, in fact, the inner and outer sides of the same thing? Those restricted to the realm of this world vigorously slander and advocate discarding our teachings; in addition, those bogged down in Buddhism often regard Confucianism as a triviality. How can they fail to realize that without the teaching of Confucius, the state cannot be in order, the family cannot be at peace, and the self cannot rest in repose? In which case, how can the Way of Buddhism proceed?7

Coming before Zhou Dunyi ઘᮖ乔 (1017–1073), Zhang Zai ᕥ䔹 (1020– 1077), and the Cheng brothers, Zhiyuan lived at a time when Song Confucians had not yet established their own theoretical system of mind and inner nature. Consequently, this Chan monk assigned the cultivation of the self, the regulation of the family and the governing of the state to Confucianism, while claiming the “cultivation of the mind” for Buddhism alone. This dichotomy posits, “Buddhism as substance, and Confucianism as function.” From this Buddhist perspective that the “three realms [the realm of sensuous desire, the realm of forms, and the formless realm of pure spirit] are only manifestations of one mind,” the world of Confucianism is “illusory” and a fabrication by the “one mind”; furthermore, the “one mind” is the only reality and is in the hands or domain of Buddhism. This is the fundamental reason that Song new Confucians had no alternative, other than to strive hard to establish their own “other shore.” A Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles” •

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passage in the Henan Cheng shi cuiyan ⋣ই〻∿㋩䀰 (Pure words of the Chengs of Henan) reported: At yesterday’s gathering there were many people talking about emptiness and stillness [of Nirvana]—something that I could not participate in. Alas! With such an ethos having already become firmly set, how can we remedy the situation? When Buddhism was popular in olden times, it was merely a matter of worshipping idols and setting up a religion, so any harm done was minor. Nowadays, claiming that everyone cannot afford not to learn Buddhism, what it talks about reaches into [the realms of] human nature, life, virtue, and the Way; thus it perplexes and misleads intelligent people before they can perceive anything else.8

This testimony clearly attests that Confucianism developed its own theory of mind and inner nature in reaction to the challenge posed by new Chan Buddhism. While there may be various dissimilar ways of interpreting the “mind” among Buddhists, their fundamental perception is that the mind ultimately ends in emptiness, for the final goal of Buddhism lies in taking leave of “this shore” in order to arrive at the “other shore.” Moreover, however dramatically it might have shifted in an inner-worldly direction, Chan Buddhism can be no exception to this basic viewpoint. This being the case, the “other shore” of new Confucianism cannot possibly be the same as the “other shore” of Buddhism. The Confucian “other shore” can only be real and not empty; otherwise, it will not be able to affirm “this shore” positively. Zhu Xi asserted: “The difference between Buddhist and Confucian views regarding nature is that the Buddhists talk about emptiness, while the Confucians talk about reality. The former talk about Nonbeing; the latter talk about Being. We Confucians may talk in an abstract way, but our principles are real; for the Buddhists, on the other hand, everything ends in emptiness.” 9 Consequently, the “other shore” that Confucians ultimately established is bound to be a world of “principles” or a “metaphysical” world. Cheng Yi once put forth an extremely influential proposition demarcating the boundary between Confucianism and Buddhism: “Heaven has true principles. When the sage follows them and acts accordingly, it is what 64 •

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we mean by the Way. The sages base themselves on Heaven, but the Buddhists base themselves on the mind.” 10 Here, by crowning “principles” with “Heaven,” Confucians sought to ensure the objective substantiality of this world, for Confucians could not accept the Buddhist standpoint that considered the objective world as entirely “arising from ignorance (avidyā).” Cheng Hao said, “The man of humaneness regards Heaven and Earth and the myriad things as one body”;11 therefore “Heaven and Earth and the myriad things” must above all be real. Otherwise, the “humane person” does not necessarily have to be a Confucian who “assists the world” but could conceivably be a Chan master who “renounces the world.” (After all, Chan monks had also said, “Heaven and Earth and I are of the same root; the myriad things and I are of the same body.”) It was for this reason that whatever explanation Song and Ming Confucians might have held for the word “principle” (li ⨶), none of them could dispense with the word “Heaven” (tian ཙ) altogether. Thus the Cheng-Zhu School claimed, “What is qi ≓ (vital energy) in Heaven becomes mind in people, and what is principle in Heaven becomes inner nature in people.” 12 Since this declaration of the Cheng-Zhu School’s perspective that “nature is principle” is so well-known, the importance of Heaven as the source of values requires no further elaboration. However, even the Lu-Wang School, despite its advocacy that “mind is principle” and its vigorous efforts to locate the source of all values in the “mind,” could not really sever “principle” from “Heaven” either. Both Lu Xiangshan and Wang Yangming ⦻䲭᰾ (Wang Shouren ⦻ᆸӱ, 1472–1529) regarded themselves as successors of Mencius; nevertheless, the “mind-heart” of Mencius’s “four beginnings” (of virtue) continued to be “what Heaven endowed” in us. Consequently, even though the word “Heaven” has a relatively more abstract and mystical connotation in Wang Yangming’s usage, he often made such statements as, “the innate knowledge of the good is the principle of Heaven,” and “the innate knowledge of the good [is] derived from the principle of Heaven.” This is not the place, however, to discuss in detail the merits and demerits of the theories of the two schools.13 Nonetheless, although both major schools of new Confucianism have their respective intrinsic difficulties, they were at one in attempting to establish a transcendent world of “principles” that might displace Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles” •

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the “way” of new Chan Buddhism. For instance, Qisong ཱྀ᎙ (1007– 1072) was a fourth-generation descendant of Yunmen and a representative figure of Northern Song Chan Buddhism; moreover, his criticism of Han Yu reflects Chan Buddhism’s conception of Confucian teachings: How could Master Han not realize that goodness has its roots, and matters have their essentials! Lost and mired in outward traces, why did he fail to investigate the profundities of the Way of the sage? Although there are several strands in Han’s teaching, they largely concern themselves with human relations, Heaven’s norms and Confucian methods of ruling the world, along with a vehement desire to destroy Buddhism and religious Daoism. Alas! Han merely stuck to the immediate matters of human relations and did not perceive the far-reaching truths about human existence. Isn’t this eclipsing the internal and pursuing the external?14

According to this perspective, Confucians merely “stick to matters” “without perceiving principles” and “pursue the external” but “eclipse the internal.” Consequently, the new Confucian theoretical framework undertook as its central mission to display “the far-reaching truths of human existence,” in order to destroy the Buddhist proposition positing, “Buddhism as substance, and Confucianism as function.” One of the concrete results of such efforts was the demarcation line drawn by Cheng Yi, quoted earlier, “The sages base themselves on Heaven, but the Buddhists base themselves on the mind.” In other words, “Heaven’s principles” constituted a transcendent, yet real, world that provided Confucianism with a metaphysical guarantee or foundation for the “immediate matters of human relations.” Here, too, we can also detect a clue as to why Cheng Yi’s and Zhu Xi’s proposition, “nature is principle,” emerged as the mainstream of new Confucianism in the Song dynasty. The “mind” in Lu Xiangshan’s premise “mind is principle” differed from the “mind” in Chan Buddhism because his was active rather than quiescent and substantial rather than empty; however, his argument “the universe is my mind” appears in the final analysis too similar to the Buddhist position of returning the myriad things to the one mind.15 Nevertheless, what is more 66

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unexpected, the proposition “mind is principle” actually came directly from Chan Buddhism, too. As Qisong asserted in his essay “Zhi xin” ⋫ ᗳ (On governing the mind), “Mind is principle. Once phenomena touch the senses, they become confusing; if one does not govern the mind, one will lose sight of principles and become enslaved by phenomena. And when phenomena get the better of principle, one will be in real peril!” 16 From this background, we can see how easily Lu Xiangshan’s contention that “mind is principle” can slide into the realm of Chan Buddhism. Similarly, Wang Yangming’s “teaching of extending the innate knowledge of the good” carries the same potential danger when discussing the “substance of the mind,” because he offered no assurance for the existence of the objective world—other than a subjective “innerworldly” spirit that a person might possess. Lu Xiangshan and Wang Yangming were of course not Chan Buddhists. Nevertheless, Lu Xiangshan was succeeded by Yang Jian ὺ㉑ (Yang Cihu ὺ᝸⒆, 1141–1226) and Wang Yangming by Wang Ji ⦻⮯ (Wang Longxi ⦻喽ⓚ, 1498–1583); and it is no mere coincidence that both disciples blatantly fell into Chan Buddhism. Stimulated by the challenge of Chan Buddhism, new Confucianism came to develop its comprehensive world of “Heaven’s principles,” its “other world,” which is at once antithetical to and supportive of “this world.” These new Confucians used different expressions to describe these two worlds: “principle” and qi (vital energy) in terms of cosmology; “before physical form” and “after physical form” in terms of ontology; “principles” and “affairs” in terms of the human relations; “Heaven’s principles” and “human desires” in terms of value theory. Of course, there are other ways of articulating such polarities, which we need not exhaustively enumerate here. Nonetheless, with “this world” and “the other world” thus established as a dialectical pair of concepts, there cannot but arise tension between them. Yet because Chinese culture belongs to an “inner transcendence” model, the relationship between these two worlds is one that remains neither too familiar nor too distant, and its tension is likewise an inner one that is not perceivable, in all its confrontational manifestations, from the outside. In Weber’s almost complete lack of knowledge about Song and Ming Confucianism, he stumbles into a grave misunderstanding on this score. In general, Weber’s general observation certainly remains a Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles” •

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sound judgment: “Every religion which opposes the world with rational, ethical imperatives finds itself at some point in a state of tension with the irrationalities of the world.” However, Weber treads on much less solid ground when he goes on to allege that Confucianism holds an “innocent” attitude toward things and events of “this world” and, as such, forms a sharp contrast to the ethic of Puritanism. In his opinion, while Puritanism takes the tension between itself and “this world” very seriously, regarding it to be of tremendous significance, the Confucian ethic aims at the contrary objective of minimizing the tension it feels vis-à-vis “this world,” at least in terms of subjective orientation. According to Weber, Confucians regard “this world” to be the best of all possible worlds and believe in the theory of the goodness of human nature. In sum, Weber considers that Confucianism adopts an attitude of “adjusting” (e.g., accommodating) to all the orders, custom, and mores of “this world.” 17 Viewed from our understanding of Confucianism today, Weber’s error is not merely a minor or factual mistake but a fundamental one that underlies—and undermines—his entire judgment; however, that fundamental mistake in judgment was ultimately due to the inadequate knowledge, at that time in the West, of historical facts about China. Actually, the attitude of Confucianism to “this world” has never been one of mere “adjustments” but rather primarily one of active transformation based on the “Way” or “principles” it holds to be valid. This means, as I shall elaborate in due course, that Confucians want to change “this world” from a state where “the Way is lost” to one in which “the Way prevails,” that is, from one that is not in accord with “principles” to one that operates in accord with principles. Still, I would concede that Confucians conceive of “this world” as principally comprising “the human world,” and their attitude toward the natural world is relatively more inclined toward adjustment. Hence the tension between “Heaven’s principles” and “human desires” manifests as a particularly grave issue in the ethic of new Confucianism, in both the Cheng-Zhu School and the Lu-Wang School. Because the Cheng-Zhu School wanted to resolve the issue between “Heaven’s principles” and “human desires” through settling a dispute regarding whether human nature was good or evil, it distinguished between “the nature of Heaven’s decree” and “the nature of qi” (i.e., vital 68

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energy). The nature of Heaven’s decree is quite similar to Mencius’s idea of the goodness of human nature, and the nature of vital energy to Xunzi’s 㥰ᆀ (d. 238 b.c.e.) notion of the social dysfunctionality or “evil” of human nature. These equivalences were clearly confirmed by Zhu Xi’s observations: “Mencius only discussed human nature but not qi endowment”; moreover, “Although Xunzi and Yang Xiong ὺ䳴 (53 b.c.e.–18 c.e.) discussed human nature, in reality they merely talked about qi endowment.” 18 The relationship between the two “natures” (like that between Heaven’s principles and human desires) is forever in a state of high tension and at the same time remains neither too familiar nor too distant. As Zhu Xi said, “What one hopes to achieve through learning is the transformation of the qi endowed in us, and yet it’s extremely difficult to transform it.” 19 His disciple Chen Chun 䲣␣ (1159–1223) put it even more plainly: “Even the most stupid can change into being good; however, the most difficult part is the effort, for they cannot effect the change without a hundredfold exertion.”20 While the “nature of Heaven’s decree” and the “nature of endowed qi” never separated from each other, the former must constantly try to bring the latter to submission, and thus this situation engenders a tension that is not difficult to imagine. Here we have specific situations where “Heaven’s principle” starts restraining “human desires.” Nevertheless, although Zhu Xi remarked, “All the words said by the sages and worthies converge on teaching people to understand Heaven’s principles and weed out human desires,”21 we should not take him literally and distort his meaning to the extreme of assuming that he wanted to annihilate all human desires in life. He asserted unequivocally that appropriate or proper desires reflect Heaven’s principles: Question: “In matters of drinking and eating, what constitutes Heaven’s principle and what constitutes human desire?” Answer: “Drinking and eating belong to Heaven’s principle. Wishing for choice dishes and flavors, however, belongs to human desire.”22

Here Zhu Xi clearly defined human desires as those that are excessive, which he sometimes also called “selfish desires.” One can therefore distinguish two levels of meaning in his use of the term “human desires”: Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles” •

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The first refers to proper desires in life that are not out of accord with Heaven’s principles, which makes it possible for one to say, “There are Heaven’s principles in human desires.”23 The second level of meaning refers to inappropriate or excessive desires in life that run counter to Heaven’s principles. Obviously, the “human desires” referred to in the expression “understanding Heaven’s principles and weeding out human desires” belong to the category of inappropriate desires. In terms of this second meaning of the term “human desires” (i.e., as selfish desires), there is no doubt that they are forever positioned against “Heaven’s principles” in a confrontational state of tension. Zhu Xi portrayed the tension as warfare: People only have Heaven’s principles and human desires. When this one wins, that other one retreats, and when that one wins, this one retreats; there is no possible state of neutrality where there is neither advancing nor retreating. Hence if a man does not advance, he will retreat. It is like Liu (Bang) and Xiang (Yu) confronting each other between Xingyang and Chenggao, each advancing or retreating one step as the other retreats or advances by the same. The novice must hold his ground firmly and bear up with perseverance. If he can sustain himself through the first moments, he will be able to bear up well in due course. If he does not give way in his mind, there will be a time when he finally prevails. How heroic it is when he does win!24

Although there are many similar statements in Zhu Xi’s Classified Conversations,25 this passage describes the situation most graphically and thoroughly, with Heaven’s principles and human desires (selfish desires) envisaged as being locked in a protracted, seesaw struggle between the armies of two men contending to become the emperor of China. One may well visualize how profound a state of tension this new Confucian ethic would generate in the novice’s psyche. This tension is not confined to the one existing between Heaven’s principles and human desires; by extension, the tension applies to the general relationship between principle and qi. Another passage in the Classified Conversations explains:

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Question again: “If qi operates in one way, but principle does not operate in the same way, then are principle and qi separated from each other?” Answer: “Although qi is born from principle, principle cannot control qi after it is born. It is like having for a certain thing a principle infused in its qi, but with its day-to-day functions dependent on this qi. The problem is just that qi is strong and principle is weak. . . . Moreover, it was precisely in order to remedy the situation that the sages established their teachings.”26

This perception, “principle is weak and qi is strong,” indicates in acute terms how tremendous and serious the tension is between the new Confucian ethic and “this world.” Moreover, because the world of principle and the world of qi are neither too familiar nor too distant and cannot be completely severed from each other, the new Confucian ethic cannot permit one to “escape the world” in a Daoist manner, still less to “renounce the world” in a Buddhist fashion. Since new Confucians envisioned a situation that permits not even a moment’s relaxation from birth to death, that situation might be likened to tensions between Siamese twins. The reason sages established teachings was precisely to help a person’s endowed “principle” bring his “qi” under control. Moreover, it is on this basis that the human might “assist in the transformation of Heaven and Earth” and “form a triad” with Heaven and Earth. It is true, of course, that humankind was the ultimate focus of the Confucian “this world.” As Zhu Xi remarked, “Why does the qi of water contain so many torrential currents like the Yangzi or the Yellow River? Why is the qi of metal hard like a piece of iron? It is because form and substance are also important, and once they are corrupted in this present life, there is finally nothing principle can do to snap them back around.”27 Here Zhu Xi did not reiterate the statement, “The reason why the sages have established their teachings is precisely to remedy the situation.” Indeed, if the Confucian “sage” had insisted on “altering” the situation in the natural world where “principle is weak and qi is strong,” his attitude would have become the Western one of “conquering nature.” The fact that modern science and technology did not develop in late imperial China is certainly not unrelated to the directional bent of “principle” in new

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Confucianism. However, in this context, it is clear that Weber’s judgment about Confucians merely adjusting to the world runs counter to the facts. After all, new Confucians confronted the negative forces of “this world” with an extremely solemn attitude and constantly kept themselves in a state of vigilance, as if coming upon a formidable enemy. In developing the terms of the “nature of Heaven’s decree” and the “nature of qi,” their new perspective on human nature incorporated Mencius’s theory of the goodness of human nature and Xunzi’s theory of the evil in human nature—even with the evil component far outweighing that of the goodness. Hence, contrary to what Weber claimed, new Confucians never innocently believed that human nature tends naturally toward goodness. “Goodness” originates from “principle” and evil originates from “qi,” but because “principle is weak and qi is strong,” efforts in selfcultivation were indispensable. The situation is the same when extended from the self to society: both government and social mores could only be improved through the collective and persistent efforts of the literati. The fundamental Confucian attitude (enhanced by new Confucians) toward “this world” had never been a matter of passive “adjustment” or “accommodation” but rather one of active “transformation.” Within the cultural formation of inner transcendence, in fact, new Confucians raised the tension between their vision and “this world” to the highest possible level. As for Weber’s contention that Confucians consider “this world” as the best of all possible worlds, this assertion also does not square with new Confucians’ conception of reality. Consider Zhu Xi’s statement: Question: “Can the universe be destroyed?” Answer: “It is indestructible. However, if in time humans lose all moral principles, everything will implode in chaos. Humans and things will all die out, and then there will be a new beginning.”28

In unequivocal terms, Zhu Xi thus stated that “this world” is not necessarily the best world, for whether it is good or bad is entirely contingent on humans. If “humans lose all moral principles,” this world can then also be destroyed in toto to make way for the re-emergence of a new 72 •

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world. Such a remark, if anything, indicates that he was extremely dissatisfied with “this world.” Weber’s notion of “possible worlds” came, of course, from Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Leibniz’s presupposition that before God created the world, God had made extensive calculations until eventually selecting among the various possible options the best alternative, which is the world we now inhabit. With this theoretical construct in hand, Leibniz proceeded to explain the existence of human free will and evil. While that theory engages itself in speculation about the source of values within the context of a Western culture grounded in the notion of external transcendence, Confucians did not attribute the source of values to an externalized “God.” For instance, Zhu Xi said: “These days there are those who say that there is a being in Heaven dispensing judgment on sin and evil. This is of course wild talk. Yet on the other hand, one cannot say that there is no decreeing authority whatsoever. Here one will have to see for oneself.”29 It is apparent from this passage that Zhu Xi would not accept the Western concept of “God.” Nevertheless, from a Western viewpoint, Zhu Xi’s speculation is equally difficult for one to “see for oneself.” If there is no “God” in Heaven, after all, why can one not say, “There is no decreeing authority whatsoever”? Here we cannot discuss this thorny problem in detail. Nonetheless, what Zhu Xi called a “decreeing authority” is simply “principle”; yet principle is “unfeeling, undesigning, and inactive.” In other words, principle has no control over qi once principle produced it; therefore he had to admit, “principle is weak and qi is strong.” In the final analysis, “Heaven” (or Heaven and Earth) as “principle” has only one function, namely, to “produce.” Thus Zhu Xi remarked, “Heaven and Earth have no other business except the mind to produce things.” Having produced the myriad things, Heaven then “pervades all things with this mind. When received by people, it becomes the mind of people, and when received by things, it becomes the mind of things.”30 Such passages manifest major philosophical ideas: “principle is one but its manifestations are many”; and “different things can be traced back to the same Supreme Ultimate.” Nevertheless, since the human “mind” is the most intelligent of all and the most aptly endowed to understand “principle,” whether “this world” operates according to the standards of “principle” becomes primarily a human responsibility. Indeed, Dai Zhen Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles” •

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ᡤ䴷 (1724–1777) made an incisive description when he said that Song

Confucians regarded “principle [as being] endowed by Heaven and embedded in the mind.”31 This being the case, the Heaven that is the distant source of immanent “principle” no longer dictates events. In characteristic expression within a configuration of “inner transcendence,” all questions of value are encompassed within the human “mind” and are to be handled by the “principle in its many manifestations.” In this ethical framework of Confucianism, “this world” constitutes a heavy burden for every person even as it creates profound tension within his or her being. While formally speaking, the Confucian vision processes neither “Genesis” nor “Doomsday,” any moment can really become a “genesis” or “doomsday.” For instance, Cheng Hao had a discussion with a student: Someone asked Master Mingdao: “In what way is the mind a phenomenon of the extension (expansion) of qi?” Answer: “As Heaven and Earth transform, the grass and trees grow lush.” [Asked:] “What happens if it fails to extend?” Answer: “Heaven and Earth would close down, and worthy people would hide themselves.”32

Xunzi had earlier already proclaimed, “The beginning of Heaven and Earth is today.”33 Xunzi was reiterating the traditional saying of the “Tang pan” ⒟ⴔ (Inscription on the bathtub of King Tang), quoted in the Great Learning: “If you can renovate yourself one day, you can do so every day, and continue doing so day after day.” Zhu Xi explained this passage in his commentaries: “Tang compared people purifying their minds and removing the evil therein to bathing the body and removing the dirt. Thus he engraved his bathtub to say that if indeed one day anyone washes off the filth of old practices and renovated oneself, one is then thus already renewed and so should renovate oneself every day and continue doing so day after day without the slightest break.”34 “This world” is the crystallization of qi, but within qi there resides principle. Principle itself does not actively create, so everything depends on “principle” inherent in the human mind for normative direction. 74

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Therefore the question does not arise as to whether this world is “the best one,” for it can be good or evil; and when it reaches its utmost limit of evil, it will destruct. The human mind possesses freedom insofar as it can understand “principle,” but this is not equivalent to “free will” in Christianity. The difference is that while the Christian God bestows “free will” on people, allowing them to do good but also to commit evil, “principle” in new Confucianism only endows people with the freedom to do good. According to its view of principle and qi, evil originates from qi when it does not operate in accordance with principle; in other words, evil is determined and not free. Furthermore, both Lu Xiangshan’s idea of the “original mind” and Wang Yangming’s notion of the “innate knowledge of the good” represent people’s freedom to do good. As Wang Yangming said in his deliberations on the mind, “Following principle leads to good, while perturbing the qi leads to evil.”35 Although strictly speaking his conceptions of “principle” and “qi” are not quite the same as those of Zhu Xi, Wang is in accord with Zhu regarding the point that evil is determined and that freedom pertains only to the good. If one traces this point back to antiquity, one can locate the source for this idea in Confucius’s statement, “It is up to oneself to be humane,” so this was a long Confucian legacy. In short, people possess the freedom to promote the good and remove evil; moreover, this freedom constitutes the only guarantee that “this world” can continue to exist. In proclaiming that if people lose all moral principles, the world will deconstruct in order to begin again, Zhu Xi was not handing down a verdict in a moment of indignation but stating a conclusion grounded in the theoretical considerations just outlined.36 Thus far we have traced the development of the concepts of “this world” and the “other world” in the ethic of new Confucianism. It is an indisputable fact that although the source of new Confucian notions of the “other world” can be traced to the ancient classics, the special configuration that they assumed in Song and Ming Confucianism cannot be considered independently of the reorientation of Buddhism as expressed in the new Chan School. While new Confucians borrowed from Buddhism (from the Huayan 㨟೤ School as well the Chan School) and established their own “world of principle” and “world of phenomena,” what they substantially accomplished was a fundamental remolding of the two worlds of Buddhism from within. This remolding Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles” •

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transformed the “empty illusion” of Buddhism into the “real being” of Confucianism. Unlike the Buddhist vision in which “this world” is but a negative product of the “mind” arising out of ignorance (avidyā), “this world” is to new Confucians a substantial ontological reality in which principle and qi are not separate from each other—even though “principle is weak and qi is strong.” Similarly, the “other world” of new Confucians is not a “substance of the mind” that ultimately returns to the “tranquil void” but “real principle” that is “rooted in Heaven.” Above all, the “other world” to new Confucians is one that faces “this world” squarely rather than being detached from it. This Confucian view has a diametrically opposite orientation to Buddhism, wherein the “other world” is reachable ultimately only by turning away from “this world.” Furthermore, it is because new Confucians conceived of the relationship between the two worlds in their own way that they managed to develop a more positive and active spirit of “inner-worldly engagement.”

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[5] “S ERIOUSNESS P ERVADING A CTIVITY AND T R ANQUILITY ” The Spiritual Temper of Inner-Worldly Engagement

A

s we have seen, the relationship between new Confucianism and new Chan Buddhism is a subtle and many-sided one: on the one hand, new Confucianism arose in response to new Chan Buddhism; on the other hand, however, it criticized and went beyond Chan by pushing the inner-worldly spirit to its utmost limits. Not only did Confucianism realign its intellectual configuration in light of the scope and dimensions of the Chan Buddhism; it also assimilated Chan elements for its own needs, especially relating cultivation methods to secular ethics. As far as cultivation is concerned, Cheng Hao once asserted: “Mencius said, “One who exerts one’s mind to the utmost knows one’s nature.” This is what the Buddhists call “knowing the mind and seeing into the nature.” Nevertheless, they have nothing for “preserving the mind and cultivating the nature.” 1 Remarkably enough, whereas Cheng Hao criticized new Chan Buddhism for focusing on “knowing the mind and seeing into the inner nature” without paying attention to “preserving the mind and cultivating the nature,” Zhu Xi stated: Recently I read Shilin’s ⸣᷇ Guoting lu 䙾ᓝ䤴 (Record of things heard from my father), which records [Xie] Shangcai as saying that after deliberating on a certain monk’s ideas, Yichuan [Cheng

Yi] came up with somethings which he then employed to counter the contention of the monk. Thus Yichuan appropriated the monk’s teachings for his own use and turned them into his own Luoyang School of learning. I had earlier suspected that Shilin’s statements might not be reliable, so I never anticipated that even Shangcai would give the same account. . . . Yet in the beginning the Buddhists merely discussed theoretically without really coming to grips with efforts for preservation and cultivation; it was not until the sixth patriarch of the Tang dynasty that they began to teach their followers efforts for preserving and cultivating. Similarly, [our own] scholars in the beginning merely spoke theoretically without really expending effort on cultivating the self; it was not until Yichuan that we began teaching our students to expend effort on cultivating the self. This is why it was said that Yichuan appropriated Buddhist teachings for his own use.2

Shangcai (i.e., Xie Liangzuo 䅍㢟ր, 1050–1103) was a prominent disciple of the Cheng brothers, and even he candidly admitted that Cheng Yi appropriated a certain monk’s teachings for his own use. Going a step further than Xie Liangzuo, Zhu Xi traced Cheng Yi’s “methods of preservation and cultivation” back to Huineng and thus flatly contradicted Cheng Hao’s assertion quoted earlier. The reason that Zhu Xi did not attempt to conceal the fact that new Confucian methods of spiritual cultivation derived from Chan Buddhism is a simple one: it involved only a methodological issue that has nothing to do with the fundamental difference in spiritual orientation between the two teachings. In terms of secular ethic, too, new Confucianism also shares considerable common ground with new Chan Buddhism. A passage in the recorded conversation of the Cheng brothers informs us: With ethical principles present here, what cannot be completed? Moreover, what is there that can lie beyond them? I see worldly honors and achievements as trivialities. I see those—who dash around the world eagerly dispensing their acts of petty benevolence and righteousness—as [Analects 14:18 says], “common men and women clinging to their conventional notions of integrity.” I

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see for myself that even great matters descending from Heaven can be handled with this same principle; what need is there to make a fuss?3

Discussed here is the relationship between “principle” and “matters.” The basic purport is that if one can “respond to matters” “in due accordance with principle,” there should be nothing, however monumental, that is difficult to handle. Being a “teaching of this world,” it is of course only natural for Confucians to place an emphasis on “matters.” Nevertheless, one must not become so mired in worldly “matters” that one fails to understand the underlying “principles” that transcend this world, for one would then merely relapse into the old versions of Sui and Tang Confucianism. It is important to note, however, that the transcendent “principles,” whose significance Song new Confucians emphasized, were actually a transplant from, or a refashioning of, the transcendent “mind” of Buddhism. In part I, I quoted a passage from the Huanzhu qinggui that discussed collective participation in labor. Reiterating several sentences should remind us of the Chan roots of this discipline: “One should just concentrate one’s mind on the Way, comply with what the community needs on the occasion, then return to the meditation hall after the task is completed and meditate quietly as before. Whether in a state of activity or quietude, one should comprehend the transcendent; in this manner, one may act all day [as if] without acting at all.” Now, the new Confucian notion of “according with principle in responding to matters,” too, may be considered as “acting all day without acting at all.” Yet at the same time there is also an important difference because in the Buddhist framework “quietude” and “activity” are opposite in orientation. While Buddhists refer to “quietude” as “preserving the mind and nourishing the nature” and ultimately resting in the still void, their “activity” means “complying with what is needed for the community on the occasion,” but with the “mind” absent or suspended. In contrast to this Buddhist view, Zhu Xi’s perspective differs: “Only when one accords with principle while in activity can one rest in quietude after matters are complete. Only if one can preserve oneself while in quietude will one be forceful when in activity. . . . Activity and quietude are analogous to the state of a boat in water; the boat moves when the tide flows and stops when it ebbs. Thus one acts when matters arise “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility” • 79

and remains quiet when there are no immediate matters.” 4 On the face of it, Zhu Xi’s advice that one should act when called on by matters and remain quiet when there are no immediate matters appears quite similar to new Chan instruction, “Whether in a state of activity or quietude, one should comprehend the transcendent.” Closer examination, however, should reveal that the figures of the boat and tide that Zhu Xi used to make his analogy indicate that “activity” and “quietude” share the same direction in his Confucian vision. The “Way” in new Chan Buddhism’s admonition to “concentrate one’s mind on the Way” is one that entails the abandonment and renunciation of “this world”; thus “activity” and “tranquility” are clearly posited as antithetical polarities moving in opposite directions. By contrast, new Confucian “principle,” which one “can preserve while in quietude,” is that which at once affirms “this world” and serves as the ultimate guarantee for its ontological existence. Thus new Confucians had to proceed a step further to clear away the barrier between the “world of principle” and the “world of matters.” This leads to our consideration of “seriousness” (jing ᮜ, also glossed as inner mental attentiveness and reverence) in relation to selfcultivation; to borrow Zhu Xi’s expression, the key lies in “seriousness pervading activity and tranquility.”5 Of course, “self-cultivation requires seriousness” is the cornerstone of Cheng Yi’s teachings. However, “seriousness” is not restricted to “preserving the mind and nourishing the nature” as a means of ascending to the transcendent realm that is the source of all values; it is also the spiritual recourse for accomplishing all “matters” in this world. An illuminating passage in the recorded conversations of the Cheng brothers tells us: When persons of superior integrity face a matter, be it trivial or significant, they merely maintain an attitude of seriousness. Simplifying minute considerations and thinking oneself as above them is not seriousness; adorning one’s intelligence to make it appear extraordinary is not seriousness either. The crux of the matter is not to be perfunctory. The Analects (13.19) says, “Be respectful while at home and serious in handling matters. Even if you live among barbarians, these principles should never be forsaken.” Hence “seriousness in handling matters” is veritably the

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beginning of humanness. If one extends this state of mind and fully realize it [in action], “the universe will be at peace when reverence is followed thoroughly.”6

Thus “pervading activity and tranquility,” “seriousness” necessarily becomes the norm of conduct in one’s inner-worldly activities. Zhu Xi explained in a letter: The word “seriousness” that the two [Cheng] masters discussed must be viewed as pervading activity and tranquility. Preserving the ruler [i.e., the principle within one’s mind] unremittingly when one is not preoccupied with matters is of course seriousness, but functioning in an orderly manner in responding to things is seriousness as well. Thus it is said, “do not fail to be serious,” “be solemn as in deep thought,” “turn [your] thoughts to seriousness in handling matters,” and “be serious in handling matters.” Who says that one needs to bind up one’s mind and sit in meditation in order to be called serious!7

Elsewhere Zhu Xi also explained the meaning of seriousness in a more succinct way: “Seriousness does not mean dropping everything but simply being collected and focused when one deals with matters, and being apprehensive and careful without giving free rein to oneself.”8 According to this explanation, “seriousness” is really an inner state of spiritual concentration to be maintained amid all inner-worldly activities; indeed, it is from here that the spirit of “seriousness in [one’s] vocation” (jing ye ᮜᾝ), so much emphasized in later Chinese society, was derived. It points to a conception of “calling” within the new Confucian ethical framework that is in certain ways comparable to its Calvinist counterpart, as I shall indicate in the following discussion when appropriate. The new Confucian ethic related to the spirit of “seriousness in handling matters” encompassed virtues, such as industry, not passing time to no purpose, and not eating without working, that were earlier emphasized in the inner-worldly asceticism of new Chan Buddhism and new religious Daoism. Because cherishing time and being industrious and thrifty were traditional Confucian precepts, new “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility” • 81

Confucians should not have needed to seek them elsewhere; nonetheless, Confucian ethics during the age of aristocratic family domination never paid sufficient attention to this area of moral conduct. Therefore the ancient tune that Song Confucians sang again not only conveyed new social significance but also suggests that the inner-worldly movement in Chan Buddhism might well have subtly inspired it. Thus in his discussion in “Qin xue” औᆨ (On industrious learning), Zhang Zai remarked: “Learning must continue over a period of three years. . . . After three years, one will have become familiar with the main tenets of the teachings. Students must also divide the day into three periods (morning, afternoon, and night) to accumulate effort progressively. Moreover, those who are even more industrious in their studies should discipline themselves by the hour.” 9 Here Zhang Zai was not discussing “industrious learning” in vague, general terms but concretely instructing the learner to divide the day into three sections for the unremitting “accumulation of effort”—something apparently borrowed from the “thrice-daily meditation” (morning, afternoon, dusk) or the “thrice-daily sutra-reading” (morning, midday, evening) practices of Chan Buddhism. In complete accord with Zhang Zai’s spirit, Zhu Xi often reiterated that effort must be unremittingly accumulated, and that one should “exert effort”—respectively, “in the morning,” “in the afternoon,” and “in the evening.” 10 Remarkably enough, Zeng Guofan ᴮ഻㰙 (1811–1872), the famous new Confucian minister of the Qing dynasty, also divided his daily time for administrative work and studying into three periods—“the earlier half of the day,” “the latter half of the day,” and “nighttime.” 11 Song new Confucians certainly came to a heightened recognition of the value of industry. As Su Song 㰷丼 (1020–1101) aptly conveyed the exhortatory message, “Life entails being industrious; being industrious, one will lack nothing. The fact that a door-hinge never gets worm-eaten, or running water never gets stale, exhibits this truth.” 12 Extending the scope of “being industrious,” Su thus turned it into the underlying basis of human existence. Indeed, judging from the statement, “being industrious, one will lack nothing,” what Su addressed was no longer confined to the limited objective of “industrious learning” but rather encompassed all activities undertaken by literati, farmers, artisans, and merchants alike. 82

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With the emphasis on being industrious came enhanced consciousness about cherishing time. Shi Jie ⸣ӻ (1005–1045), for instance, exhorted his students to treasure what little time they had: Daylight is like a galloping steed, Youth does not continue forever. While still anxious that the self has not stood firm, Suddenly, old age comes upon us. If you truly think of this, Then what leisure is there for meals during the day, What leisure for sleep during the night?13

In Zhu Xi’s admonitions to his disciples, he emphasized even more frequently this sense of time hastening past: “Time hurries on readily. A day passed, a day less; a year passed, a year lost. One sees only aging, and suddenly one is dead. Just think, what kind of example is this? Nothing, but a life idly passed!” 14 Holding this view about cherishing time, which was entirely in accord with the Puritan ethic, Confucians similarly considered wasting time a major offense. On this issue, as elsewhere, they were in fact responding to the challenge of Buddhism. Here again is Zhu Xi’s testimony: The Buddhists say, “Apart from dressing and eating, do not get your mind involved with other things during the twenty-four hours of the day.” The Master [Confucius] also said [in Analects 4.5], “Whether in moments of haste or times of danger, the person of superior integrity must have it [i.e., humaneness].” This is how one must exert effort. Now you just spend most of your time every day exercising your mind on trivia, asking about trivial matters, and chatting away in idle talk. You spend little time inquiring about important matters or looking thoroughly into your own affairs. If people really exert serious effort, they will have no leisure time for chatting away in idle talk and asking about trivial matters.15

The very fact that Zhu Xi quoted the Buddhist statement even before he did the Analects removes even more doubt that Chan Buddhism inspired new Confucianism on this issue. “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility” • 83

Indeed, Zhu Xi not only disapproved of “ease” but especially detested “sloth”: “All my life I have never known how to be lazy; even when I am seriously ill, I still wholeheartedly desire to advance. One certainly cannot be lazy in doing things. That people are lazy now is not necessarily because they are weak-willed. Instead, any task intimidates them beforehand; once they face a task, they give up in anticipation of its difficulty.” 16 Consistently, Zhu Xi said this not only to his disciples but also to his own son. In his letters, he repeatedly urged his eldest son “not to be indolent,” “do not drift into wild thoughts and abandon your studies,” but instead to be “persistently studious,” to “rise early and rest late, and not be unworthy of me.” 17 This new Confucian ethic had a remarkable impact on later generations. Thus during the early Ming dynasty, Wu Yubi ੣㠷ᕬ (1391–1469) “dwelt in the country, farmed personally, and lived on his own labor; there were many who followed him and became his disciples.” On one occasion, Chen Baisha 䲣ⲭ⋉ [Chen Xianzhang 䲣⦫ㄐ, 1428–1500] came from Guangdong to study with him. Once when morning just dawned, the master was already winnowing away the chaff, but Baisha had not yet risen. In a loud voice, the master rebuked him: “If a cultivated talent remains idle, how can he hope to arrive at the gate of [Cheng] Yichuan’s learning? And how can he hope to arrive one day at the gate of Mencius’s learning?” 18

Confucians intended for their ethics to apply ultimately to everyone. Through comprehensive efforts directed at “community covenants,” “elementary education,” “exhortations to farmers,” “charitable estates,” and “clan rules,” new Confucians hoped to extend their ethics to the entire society. Thus the “Maxims for Managing the Family,” written by Zhu Bolu ᵡ՟ᔜ (Yongchun ⭘㍄, 1617–1688), achieved an extremely wide circulation in Qing society and popularized Cheng-Zhu ethics. Song Confucians also have something equivalent to the pronouncement, “one day no work, one day no food.” For example, Fan Zhongyan 㤳Ԣ␩ (989–1052) remarked: “When I lie down at night, I reckon the cost of my food consumption and maintenance for the day, as well as the work I have done. If the expenditure I have incurred and the things 84

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I have done stand in balance, I can snore soundly; if not, then all through the night I cannot rest in peace, still determine to make good the balance the next day.” 19 Similarly, Zhu Xi also exclaimed, “It is against principle for anyone living in this world not to do any work after taking his meals.”20 What Fan and Zhu meant by “doing work” was of course not only manual productive labor. Since the social division of labor is something that Confucians since the time of Mencius always emphasized, there was no shame involved in receiving the fruits of others’ labor, but only so long as one contributes one’s own share of work for the benefit of the whole society and obtains what is one’s proper due. This Confucian perspective is similar to the Puritan view of work and the division of labor. For according to the Puritans, everyone must work as required by their fixed callings, and yet not everyone engages in the same calling. Thus wealthy people can also provide other useful services in lieu of manual labor, as long as they conscientiously “do work” in the service of God.21 Simply substitute “Heaven’s principle” for “God” and one will see that in many places the social ethic of new Confucianism tallies well with its Puritan counterpart. For instance, such precepts as have been mentioned earlier—not wasting time, not chatting away in idle talk or inquiring about trivial things, as well as rising early and retiring late—were all priority items that Weber especially emphasized in Puritanism.22 The main difference between the two ethical systems resides in the basis of transcendence. For the Puritans, inner-worldly asceticism represented God’s absolute command; moreover, Weber even asserted that they regarded their accomplishments in this world as the only way in which believers might gain confidence that God had chosen them for eternal life in the other world. In contrast, new Confucians believed in “Heaven’s principle” (or “the Way”). Since “principle” at once resides above and within “matters,” every person must “do work” in their assigned position in order to understand principle and “fulfill their designated role” (jin benfen ⴑᵜ࠶).23 Yet, far from being a negative, resigned way of accommodating to this world, “doing work” was always a matter of “dwelling in seriousness,” that is, striving seriously to fulfill what is required in a positive and active inner-worldly spirit. It is true that Heaven’s principle does not exist because of sage-king Yao ๟ or vanish because of tyrant Jie Ṱ, nor will Heaven and Earth be “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility” • 85

destroyed; yet “if man loses all moral principles,” “this world” may then deconstruct. Thus new Confucians still had an ethical duty to strive to accomplish something in “this world”; furthermore, it is through the establishment of virtue, merit, or words that “immortality” is attainable. The “other world” lies within and not in the beyond: one rises to paradise if one feels peaceful in mind and justified in principle and sinks to hell if one’s mind is not at peace. Nevertheless, even while new Confucianism places importance on accomplishments in this world, its orthodox teachings do not determine the presence or absence of “principle” in any particular “matter” based on a standard of failure and success. This contrasts with Calvinist doctrine of “predestination,” which Weber presented as sometimes lapsing into regarding worldly success as a “symptom of virtue.”24 Herein lies the central significance of the dispute over the “true king” (wang ⦻) and the hegemon (ba 䵨) between Zhu Xi and Chen Liang 䲣Ӟ (Chen Tongfu 䲣਼⡦, 1143–1194), whose contending viewpoints were succinctly characterized by Chen Fuliang 䲣‫ڵ‬㢟 (1141– 1203) in his first reply to Chen Liang: Where success is achieved, therein lies virtue, and where a matter comes to fruition, therein lies principle: this is your contention, according to which sages and worthies of the Three Dynasties have all rigorously disciplined themselves in vain. Success may be achieved by chance and does not necessarily entail virtue; a matter may accidentally come to fruition and does not necessarily entail principle: this is Zhu Xi’s argument, according to which Emperors Gaozu of the Han and Taizong of the Tang might not be much more worthy than robbers and bandits.25

We can readily perceive that the Puritan viewpoint shares a certain degree of affinity with the opinion, “Where success is achieved, therein lies virtue, and where a matter comes to fruition, therein lies principle.” Yet this is indeed another important difference between the ethic of Puritanism and that of new Confucianism. Nevertheless, although we must hasten to add that while Chen Liang’s standpoint never became an orthodox position, it did persist as an undercurrent in the new Confucian ethic, so its influence cannot be lightly dismissed. 86

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The notion of “predestination” certainly tinges Calvinism with a flavor of spiritual aristocracy. This doctrine distinguishes two main categories: a minority of chosen people who carry out the Way in “this world” on God’s behalf, and the hapless multitude who forever remain as fallen sinners. Yet since only God knows who has been “chosen” until the time when the Last Judgment arrives, all must strive hard for accomplishments in this world, according to Weber, in order to gain assurance about their being among the “chosen people.” The early Calvinists (and later the Puritans) all had extremely high self-esteem and confidence in their own character, and their objective was to establish a holy community in this world, for this sacred mission was one that God had bestowed on them by a special act of grace.26 Confucians, by contrast, harbored no notion of being a “chosen people”; still less would they admit that the majority of the people are doomed to remain forever fallen.27 From another perspective, however, Confucians shared certain common ground with the Calvinists in their sense of social mission. Instead of “carrying out the Way on God’s behalf,” Confucians “carried out the Way on behalf of Heaven”; what they aimed to establish is not a “holy community” but a society in which “the Way prevails in the world.” Confucians did not see themselves as “chosen people” but rather the “early awakened among Heaven’s subjects,” while the multitude are not sinners forever fallen but people “tardy in awakening” or “not-yet awakened.”28 It is precisely due to this kind of thinking that new Confucians consciously felt compelled to “take the burden of the world upon themselves,” to use Zhu Xi’s words. They certainly took their role as the “early awakened” very seriously, but they never became complacent in their individual “early awakening.” As the Cheng brothers said, it was more important to “awaken the people to the Way” in an effort that all would “suffice to set the state and the world in order.” This aspect resembles the Calvinist view of “chosen people” because individual “chosen people” also wholeheartedly immersed themselves in the mission to ameliorate society and the world. Still, there is another significant difference between Confucians and Calvinists on this score. Calvinists believe that once bestowed, God’s grace would ensure ultimate perseverance; therefore Calvinists appeared to feel relatively little urgency to engage in the cultivation of their character through constant vigilance. “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility” • 87

New Confucians, however, are closer to the Lutheran position, which underscored the necessity for unremitting cultivation of one’s character in order to guarantee that the “grace” bestowed will not be withdrawn.29 Once again, new Confucian cultivation of one’s mind and nature was not undertaken for personal liberation or salvation but as a spiritual preparation for “taking the burden of the world upon oneself.”

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[6] “R EGARDING THE W ORLD O NE ’ S R ESPONSIBILITY ”

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The Inner-Worldly Asceticism of New Confucianism

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mong new Confucians of the Song dynasty, Fan Zhongyan was the first to advocate this spirit of “early awakening.” In appraising the personages of his own dynasty, Zhu Xi singled out Fan Zhongyan for having “made a significant contribution to elevating the spirit of the scholar-officials”: “Since the time when he became a “cultivated talent” (xiucai ⿰᡽) [by attaining the beginning degree in the civil service examinations], Fan Wenzheng regarded the world as his responsibility, and there was nothing he was not concerned about. Once Emperor Renzong ӱᇇ (r. 1022–1063) gave him a free hand, he launched many remarkable projects and carried them through.” 1 Ouyang Xiu, too, eulogized Fan Zhongyan in a tomb inscription: “Even when young he showed great integrity . . . [and] with a deep sense of purpose, he set his mind on the world. Often, he would chant to himself, ‘A scholar should be the first to worry about the troubles of the world and the last to enjoy its pleasures.’ ”2 Since Song times, whenever people mention Fan Zhongyan, they almost spontaneously recall the above characterizations. Although “regarding the world as his responsibility” was Zhu Xi’s assessment of Fan Zhongyan, the statement may well be taken as a normative standard that Song Confucians set for their social role.3 In this broader context, it was because Fan Zhongyan lived up to such a normative standard that Zhu Xi used the expression

to describe him. The other statement, “A scholar should be the first to worry about the world’s troubles and the last to enjoy its pleasures,” was one made by Fan Zhongyan himself in his “Yueyang lou ji” ዣ䲭⁃䁈 (In commemoration of the Yueyang Tower); herein the word “should” is even more manifestly normative. It may be useful to compare Fan Zhongyan’s “motto” with a passage written by a Western scholar to describe the Calvinist: “The Calvinist is filled with a deep consciousness of his own value as a person, with the high sense of a Divine mission to the world, of being mercifully privileged among thousands, and in possession of an immeasurable responsibility.” 4 Hence both new Confucians and Calvinists had high expectations for themselves; the only difference is that while Confucians worked in the world of public service, Calvinists carried out their responsibilities from their religious base. Because Confucians considered themselves to be the “early awakened” and conscious of their traditional social status as scholars (who would become “scholar-officials” upon entering public service), they came to develop in their subjective consciousness a heightened sense of self-esteem. This remarkable spirit of the “scholars” is an extremely salient characteristic of new Confucianism that could not in any measure be found in the Confucianism of the Northern and Southern Dynasties and the Sui-Tang periods. In saying this, I do not mean to idealize new Confucians but simply want to point out the emergence of this spirit as a historical fact. This does not mean that everyone since Song times who might be considered a new Confucian lived up to the ethical norm set by Fan Zhongyan—just as we cannot say that the religious practice of every Calvinist or Puritan fulfilled the model quoted above. More concretely, whether Fan Zhongyan himself managed at all times and places to “regard the world as his responsibility” or to be “the first to worry and  the last to enjoy” is for our purposes a question of secondary importance—a question that will really loom large only when one studies the personal history of his life. Our focus here is that Fan Zhongyan’s advocacy of this new norm for Confucian scholars quickly set off a thunderous reverberation among Song Confucians, so much so that Zhu Xi considered Fan to have “made a significant contribution towards elevating the spirit of scholar-officials.” This objective fact alone suffices to indicate that a new spiritual configuration had indeed crystallized 90

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among the Confucian communities of the Song period.5 What later generations often pointed to as the “ethos of Song scholars” is not a comprehensive verdict decided after studying the personal history of every individual “scholar” but rather an evaluation based on a “collective overview.” Methodologically this represents the “holistic approach,” which is comparable to Weber’s postulation of an “ideal type.” Why did this special Confucian spiritual configuration crystallize at the time it did, namely, during the Song dynasty and not earlier or later? Although we cannot comprehensively deal with this historical issue here, we can simply point to both extrinsic and intrinsic elements involved. The extrinsic element arose in social changes, especially in the key factor of the disintegration of the “medieval” aristocratic prominent families.6 Intrinsic elements included the rediscovery of classical Confucian thought: the spirit of Zengzi’s ᴮᆀ (505–435 b.c.e.) “regarding humanity as his own responsibility,” Mencius’s “rejoicing and worrying on the world’s account,” as well as the Latter Han scholar-officials’ “regarding the ethos and mores, rights and wrongs of the world as their own responsibility.” All these factors provided Song Confucians with fresh inspiration.7 From the perspective of the present discussion, we also need to consider the possible influence of the Buddhist inner-worldly reorientation on the formation of this special Song Confucian spirit. In this connection, Arthur Wright (1913–1976) proposed an interesting explanation. In his opinion, Fan Zhongyan’s motto, a scholar should be “the first to worry about the world’s troubles and the last to enjoy its pleasures,” was appropriated from the bodhisattva ideal in Mahayana Buddhism. Since the bodhisattva is determined to save others before saving himself and is willing to bear all hardships and misfortunes on behalf of other beings, Wright saw Fan Zhongyan’s famous motto as a secular recasting of the bodhisattva ideal.8 Even though I have already noted that the notion of “worrying and rejoicing on the world’s account” is present in the Confucian classics, Fan’s teaching about being the “first” in duty and the “last” in enjoyment does indeed bear resemblance to the spirit of the bodhisattva ideal. Although Wright’s observation runs the danger of taking the part for the whole, it remains worthwhile for us to explore the issue a little further. In his early years, Fan Zhongyan studied for three years in a Buddhist monastery.9 While stationed at Poyang, “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility” • 91

he invited the monks of the Zhishan Monastery 㣍ኡሪ to recite the Diamond Sutra for his deceased mother;10 moreover, while stationed at Hangzhou, he encouraged the various Buddhist monasteries to launch large-scale construction projects.11 He was also on familiar terms with a number of prominent monks of the era.12 It is thus only within the bounds of reasonable inference that Fan Zhongyan should have been influenced by Buddhism. Still, we cannot quickly jump to any sweeping conclusion regarding the possible influence of Buddhism on the Song Confucian ethos simply based on a single statement made by Fan Zhongyan. Nonetheless, the poet-monk Huihong ᜐ⍚ (Juefan 㿪ㇴ, 1071–1128) has preserved for us one of Wang Anshi’s recorded conversations that helps illuminate the question at issue here. This conversation is especially worth introducing because, as far as I am aware, it does not seem to have caught the attention of historians. There were three points mentioned in the original passage, of which two related to Buddhism: Zhu Shiying ᵡц㤡 said, “On the occasion I accompanied Wengong [Wang Anshi] on his travels, and stayed for a few nights at the Dinglin Monastery ᇊ᷇ሪ. There, I heard what I had never heard before.” . . . [Wang Anshi] said, “During the times of the Three Dynasties and King Cheng of the Zhou dynasty, sages were mainly born among us Confucians; since the times of the two Han dynasties, sages were mostly born among the Buddhists.” This is an incontestable argument. He also remarked, “I agreed to become prime minister just because of a statement made by Xuefeng 䴚ጟ.” Zhu Shiying said, “I would like to hear Xuefeng’s statement.” Wang Anshi replied, “What has this old chap done for other sentient beings?” 13

A native of Jiangxi, like Wang Anshi, and already sixteen (according to Chinese counting) when Wang died in 1086, Huihong was a famous poet-monk, later jocularly dubbed “prodigal monk” by Wang Anshi’s second daughter (the wife of Cai Bian 㭑঎, 1017–1117).14 Zhu Shiying was also a fellow provincial of Wang Anshi and somewhat older than Huihong when he accompanied Wang in traveling to the Dinglin

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Monastery.15 Huihong was on intimate terms with Zhu Shiying—as can be attested by the three poems he wrote for Zhu—which enhances the reliability of the above-quoted statements as authentic remarks coming directly from Wang Anshi himself.16 The first observation (sages since Han times mainly arose out of Buddhism) probably reflected a view Wang Anshi had always held; otherwise, why would Zeng Gong ᴮ䶿 (1019–1083) have had suspicions about Wang: “what he calls “ jing” ㏃ are Buddhist sutras” instead of Confucian classics.17 However, it is the second statement in the recorded conversation that is especially significant, for Wang Anshi manifestly admitted that he took office as prime minister because of the spiritual inspiration of new Chan Buddhism. Indeed, the question, “What has one done for other sentient beings?” points precisely to the spirit of the bodhisattva ideal. The Xuefeng alluded to here was Xuefeng Yicun 䴚ጟ㗙ᆈ (822–908), that is, “Great Master Zhenjue ⵏ㿪 (True Awakening),” the fifth-generation Dharma-successor of Qingyuan 䶂৏; moreover, his successor was Yunmen Wenyan 䴢䮰᮷‫( ٳ‬864–949), founder of the Yunmen sect that flourished during the Northern Song.18 Xuefeng himself was especially renowned for his compassion for all sentient beings; for instance, Huihong also made special mention of “loving other sentient beings like Xuefeng.” 19 The presence of this sensibility in Wang Anshi is corroborated by his shi 䂙 and ci 䂎 poetry. Consider, for example, the last couplet of the second of his two poems written on the wall of Banshan Monastery: All sentient beings are no different from the Buddha; The Buddha is the same as all sentient beings.20

In addition, there is also a set of Buddhist eulogy poems, the first of which runs: Sentient beings who entrust themselves to the Buddha: In pure living, manifest the four dignified deportments. May we roam in all the Buddha’s lands, And the worthies and sages of the ten directions not leave us, But remove forever the ignorance of the world.

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Similarly, for the fourth one: Within the three realms, Are attachments to all kinds of calamities. I hope all sentiment beings will share my wish, To be able to contemplate effectively on emptiness, And hold firmly to the Three Precious Ones.21

Clearly, in these shi and ci poetic pieces, Wang Anshi not only expressed reverence for “sentient beings” and the wish to save them all but also manifestly called the Buddha and the bodhisattvas “sages and worthies.” With such compelling direct evidence at hand, we may accept without any doubt that the two statements cited indeed represent the words of Wang Anshi himself.22 Like Fan Zhongyan, Wang Anshi was a man with a self-appointed mission who “regarded the world as his responsibility.” To have been inspired by a Chan monk’s statement to become prime minister—thenceforth launching a vocation with national repercussions—is this not a concrete expression of the spirit of “being the first to worry about the world’s troubles?”23 As paradigmatic figures among Northern Song new Confucians, both Fan Zhongyan and Wang Anshi were thus directly or indirectly influenced by the inner-worldly reorientation of Buddhism. Indeed, if Fan Zhongyan’s teaching regarding “the first to worry and the last to enjoy” really had some connection with Buddhism, the inspiration probably did not arise just from a general Mahayana concept like the bodhisattva ideal but more specifically in the new Chan schools’ inner-worldly transformation of that ideal. As Xuefeng said, “What has this old chap done for the other sentient beings?” New Chan Buddhism was still extremely influential in Song times and had become even more inner-worldly in outlook than it had been in the Tang period. Indeed, Qisong of the Northern Song and Dahui Zonggao བྷភ ᇇᶢ (1089–1163) of the Southern Song even went so far as to affirm the validity of “serving one’s father and ruler.”24 Overall, by Song times, the new Chan School of Buddhism and new Confucianism, as two streams of thought, had become quite intertwined. As a result, it became increasingly difficult to draw a clear line between them as far as inner-worldly asceticism was concerned. Viewed as a whole and in 94

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historical perspective, the new school of Chan first clearly set in motion the religious reorientation in late imperial China. The new Confucian movement immediately followed it as a second wave. Finally came new Daoist religion, the third wave. Since the twelfth century the various new sects of Daoist religion were deeply inspired by the inner-worldly asceticism of Chan Buddhism, such as “no work, no food” and “engagement in dusty labor,” on the one hand, but also fully embraced the Confucian teaching of “loyalty” (zhong ᘐ) and “filial piety” (i.e., family reverence, xiao ᆍ), on the other hand. Such being the general trend in the development of Chinese religious ethic since the late Tang, I would like to suggest that the movement known as Sanjiao heyi йᮉਸа (union of the Three Teachings in one), which reached its peak in the late Ming, may well be perceived as a logical culmination of this extended development.25 While the movement of “the union of the Three Teachings in one” may not be of prominent significance purely from the perspective of intellectual history, we certainly cannot overlook this movement when considering social ethics and popular culture.26 No longer coming from aristocratic clans and prestigious families, what Song Confucians encompassed, when referring in preceding passages to “the world” and “sentient beings,” was all the people in society, including all within the so-called four categories of people— scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants. Scholars remained the first of the four categories, enjoying a social position higher than the other three. At least the situation that had prevailed since the Northern and Southern Dynasties, in which “the status difference between scholars and the common people was [openly recognized as] the order of the state,” was now forever gone.27 Zhang Zai’s declaration in his “Ximing” 㾯䣈 (Western inscription), “all people are my brothers and sisters,” became the most succinct encapsulation of this idea shared by new Confucians. In the theoretical framework of new Confucianism, the four categories of people reflected only occupational differentiation that did not constitute an evaluative index of their relative moral qualities. Regarding themselves as “the early awakened among the subjects of Heaven,” new Confucians treated without discrimination those among the four vocational classes who were as yet “unawakened.” Fan  Zhongyan’s poem on the four categories of people offers clear “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility” • 95

testimony to such an egalitarian view, for this poem not only severely reprimands the “petty people” among “scholars” but also expresses deep sympathy for “our merchants so painfully distressed and hardtoiling.”28 In short, the distinctions in the new Confucian ethic between principle and desire, righteousness and profit, have genuinely universal import and were never specially designed to serve the interests of a particular social group or stratum. How certain interest groups might exploit such an ethic is a separate issue. Similarly, the Protestant ethic did indeed contribute to the development of capitalism, but this does not discount the fact that what Calvin and later the English Puritans had in mind when they founded their religious sect was still religious and ethical issues of a general nature. Among Puritan documents, there are innumerable statements condemning the pursuit of profit and mammon; therefore one can readily grant that they made as strict a distinction as new Confucians did between principle and desire, righteousness and profit. While such virtues as thrift, honesty, and solemnity they advocated might have fitted the needs of capitalism, there is no doubt that their ethical system was not specially designed for the benefit of the capitalist class.29 In fact, any religious or ethical system or social theory—and Marxism is no exception, for that matter—can be manipulated by certain interest groups to the point where it operates in ways diametrically opposite to its original intentions. Having made this point clear, we shall be under no obligation to locate a specifically defined social root for new Confucianism, such as perceiving it vaguely as belonging to the ideology of a particular social stratum. Nevertheless, this is not to say that the social attributes of any particular new Confucian had no influence whatsoever on his understanding and interpretation of certain aspects of the Confucian ethic; on this level of analysis, no general formulation can substitute for specific case studies. The need for new Confucianism to address itself to all four categories of people was also a response to the Buddhist challenge, for the impact of Buddhism on Chinese society was an all-pervasive one. Zhu Xi described the situation quite vividly: Buddhism is a refuge for fugitives. Now, just see how all kinds of people—adults, children, officials, villagers, and merchants, males

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and females—are admitted within its gates. What is most outside of decorum about those Buddhists is their conversing with women when they (the monks) see them. To take one example, (Dahui) Zonggao was on good terms with eunuchs, powerful personages, and scholar-officials alike. Tang Situi ⒟ᙍ䘰 [1117–1164] and Zhang Weigong ᕥ兿‫[ ޜ‬i.e., Zhang Jun ᕥ⎊, Duke of Wei, 1097– 1164] were like water and fire to each other, but Zonggao was friendly with both Tang and Zhang. It also said that Zonggao was the knight-errant of Chan Buddhism.30

This passage goes a considerable distance toward indicating the extensiveness of Buddhism’s social base. Therefore, rising to compete against the new Chan School, new Confucians had to strive for the support of people in various social strata and occupations, including the illiterate who comprised most of China’s people. Thus even in its early days when new Confucianism began to gain impact, Zhang Zai already proclaimed: “The important thing about the meaning of all the classics is its demonstrated evidence [in people’s lives]; therefore, even if people are illiterate, what obstacle is there to them doing good?”31 This statement not only opened the way for Lu Xiangshan’s teachings but also manifestly declared that new Confucians established their teachings—not for a special social stratum but for all people. Zhang Zai remarked elsewhere: “Where profit is intended for the  people, it may be called profit. However, where profit is  intended for the self or the state, it is not profit at all. To speak of profit as profit is like speaking of beauty as beauty. Profit is indeed difficult to discuss, for one cannot always judge it in the same way.”32 This was an explanation made in reply to a student’s question, and it plainly indicates that Zhang Zai’s object of concern was not just the scholar class but also all people. Indeed, Zhang Zai was not only against scholars scheming for their own profit but also opposed to the state (i.e., the government) competing with the people for profit. This contention—that only “profit” for all the “people” may be considered as proper “profit”—reflects the same idea as his pronouncement, “all people are my brothers and sisters.” Despite all the disagreements among the various schools within the large theoretical framework of new Confucians, they were in accord with one another when reciting, “All people are my brothers and sisters.” “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility” • 97

The universal import of the new Confucian ethic not only is manifest in its nondiscriminatory, egalitarian attitude to “all sentient beings,” it also finds expression in new Confucians’ all-inclusive demand for the thorough reconstruction of the social order (or, to use their terminology, to “assist the world”). It was because they meant to begin by establishing the scale of their undertaking to reform the world that Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi took the classic Great Learning as “the gateway to virtue for the beginnings of learning.” The Great Learning leaves out virtually nothing in its systematic and integrated program of action—from the investigation of things and the extension of knowledge through making the will sincere, rectifying the mind, and cultivating the person to regulating the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the world. That Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi doggedly changed the phrase “being affectionate to the people” (qinmin 㿚≁) to “renewing the people” (xinmin ᯠ≁) is an especially telling indication of their resolute determination to construct a new order. As Zhu Xi explained in his commentary on this passage from the Great Learning, “To renew means to reform the old.” This is an example of new Confucian formal declarations of comprehensive “reform” and cannot in any way be taken lightly. Despite interpreting the Great Learning differently from Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi, both Lu Xiangshan and Wang Yangming also endorsed the program of action outlined therein as their basic guiding principle.33 Lu Xiangshan certainly shared fundamental objectives with Zhu Xi, as evident in Lu’s frequent declarations, such as, “There are no matters outside of the Way, and there is no Way outside of matters” and “All affairs within the universe are my own affairs.”34 On this point, perhaps, the new Confucian’s wish to “assist the world” is comparable to a Calvinist’s activist spirit in establishing a “holy community.” Calvinism envisioned a thoroughly Christian society in this world, where everything—from church, state, family, society, and economic life to all personal relationships on the public and private levels—conforms to the will of God and the stipulations of the Bible.35 Due to dissimilarities in objective circumstances and religious organization, one certainly cannot draw specific parallels between the two teachings in terms of their content and processes, as well as the results of their respective endeavors to transform the world. Nevertheless, speaking merely on the level of subjective yearning, we cannot but 98

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admit that there are indeed resemblances between the two. While new Confucian efforts in “assisting the world” found expression in political reform during the Northern Song, they increasingly focused after the Southern Song on educational instruction, especially in founding academies and lecturing to society.36 It was because of this change that the new Confucian ethic gradually managed to penetrate into the daily life of the Chinese people and spread its assimilating influence. At this critical turn, we must briefly explain the significance of the division of new Confucianism into its two main schools, with Lu Xiangshan and Wang Yangming set in opposition to Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi.

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[7] S IMILARITIES AND D IFFERENCES B ETWEEN Z HU X I AND L U X IANGSHAN The Social Significance of the Division in New Confucianism

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espite the shared Confucian ideal and mission of the “early awakened” engaged in “assisting the world” and “awakening” those not yet awakened, serious disagreements did exist among the different groups of Confucians regarding the specific measures and procedures employed in carrying out the mission of “awakening the tardy.” Setting aside the conventional focus on philosophical divergences between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan, which is tangential to the present discussion, one may say that Zhu Xi concentrated on the scholars as the direct object of his instruction. For Zhu Xi, the only viable approach was to awaken the scholar class at large before proceeding to edify the other three categories of people through having the scholars serve as teachers. Indeed, Zhu Xi’s distinctions between “principle and desire,” “righteousness and profit” were first and foremost severe warnings directed at scholars and officials. Where opportunities arose, such as when submitting memorials or lecturing on the meaning of the classics during the imperial classics colloquia, he certainly did not let pass any opportunity to expound to the emperor the need to “rectify the mind and make the will sincere,” although such occasions were not easy to come by. In any case, we can be sure from his collected writings and recorded conversations that the upper strata of society, from scholars and ministers to the emperor, constituted Zhu

Xi’s direct audience. For instance, he wrote in one of his memorials to the emperor: “In the way of learning, nothing has priority over fathoming principles, and the key to fathoming principles must be in studying books. Furthermore, the proper method of studying values, above all, proceeding in an orderly fashion toward the essential, while the root of reaching the essential resides in seriousness and holding fast to one’s purpose. This is an unalterable principle.” 1 Such is Zhu Xi’s basic pedagogical method of “reading books and fathoming principles.” His proposition clearly addressed scholars and others in higher social station, for it is utterly meaningless to those who are illiterate or even barely literate. Lu Xiangshan differed sharply from Zhu Xi in that Lu expounded his teachings with both the scholars and the general populace in mind. It is undeniable that Lu Xiangshan’s focus of attention still centered primarily on scholars, but at the same time he also frequently communicated his teachings directly to the common people in society. Consider his two most famous public lectures. The first one took place at the White Deer Grotto Academy in 1181 at Zhu Xi’s invitation. On that occasion, Lu lectured on the theme from Analects 4.16, “The person of superior integrity understands uprightness; the person of inferior integrity understands profit.” Addressed specifically to adult students preparing for the civil service examinations, the lecture exhorted them to “distinguish their [proper] intentions,” and not to study the writings of the ancient sages and worthies merely for the sake of personal gain and officialdom via success in the examinations.2 During the second one, Lu lectured to minor officials and common people on the “supreme standard” (huangji ⲷᾥ), delineated in the “Hongfan” ⍚ㇴ (Grand norm) chapter in the classic Shangshu ቊᴨ (Book of history). On this occasion in 1192, he spoke to a general assembly of the masses—with five to six hundred members of the general populace present in addition to some officials, scholars, clerks, and constables. The lecture’s main theme was that doing good works already amounts to “wishing many blessings for the self,” so there was no need to pray to gods and to various manifestations of the Buddha. What is particularly noteworthy is that Lu’s principal philosophical tenets (e.g., his exhortation that people should “recover their original minds”) also filtered through this popular lecture. In this speech, he highlighted: “If a person’s mind is upright and his pursuits honorable, he will achieve all the merits that studying can bring—even Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan •

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though he may not be able to read a single word. However, if his mind is devious and his pursuits dishonorable, what use is there even if he studies extensively? If anything, applying the knowledge he has acquired in dishonorable ways can only aggravate his transgression and guilt!”3 For Lu Xiangshan, this statement reflected his conviction that “scholarofficials and Confucian literati cannot stand, unashamed, before farmers and rural people.”4 In this respect he is comparable to Martin Luther, for Luther firmly believed that an illiterate farmer could understand God far better than a doctor of divinity.5 When Lu Xiangshan resided and lectured in the countryside, the general populace constituted most of his audience. Indeed, the Nianpu (Chronology of his life) recorded under the year 1186: When Master Lu returned, scholars converged in large numbers. Even village elders bowed their heads submissively and listened to his instruction. Whenever he visited towns and cities, there would generally be about two or three hundred people sitting around him, until monasteries and temples became absolutely packed. Magistrates arranged lectures at schools for him, and listeners—noble and humble, old and young—would more than fill the surrounding streets and lanes. No one had ever seen an itinerant scholar with such a large following.6

If we keep in mind that there were many illiterate people among Lu’s audiences, we can really appreciate why he insisted on setting forth a “simple and easy” teaching. Chan monks have said, “There are not very many seeds in the Buddha’s Law,” and a similar statement could aptly characterize Lu’s philosophical stance. Yet in the final analysis, Lu Xiangshan’s tremendous appeal came not from his intellectual reasoning but from the sincerity and affective power of his feelings—something that later generations could never feel merely from reading his words. During his lecture at the White Deer Grotto Academy, “he spoke eloquently and frankly, until some of the people were in tears. Yuanhui ‫ݳ‬Ზ (Zhu Xi) was deeply moved and fanned himself as he perspired, notwithstanding the slightly chilly weather.”7 Likewise in his lecture on the “Grand Norm” at Jingmen, the people were “touched to the depths of their hearts, and some were 102

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moved to tears by what he said.”8 His students recorded on another lecturing occasion: “All the students who heard his lectures bowed their heads reverently and listened too with their hands, one cupped in the other, in front of their chests. He did not just lecture on the classics but often inspired the people’s original minds. From time to time, he would quote words from the classics for illustration, articulating his words clearly and resoundingly. There was no one in the audience who remained unmoved and unawakened.” 9 Lu Xiangshan himself also plainly asserted, “When I talk to people, most of the time I move their blood veins; hence it is easy for them to listen to what I say.” 10 Appealing to the feelings rather than to the intellect was also characteristic of his public lecturing and displayed his distinctive talent. In sharp contrast to Zhu Xi’s way of “studying books and fathoming principles,” Lu Xiangshan was very much like a Christian preacher in his mode of pedagogical transmission. He had a profound conviction in his “simple and easy” teaching, for its truth and efficacy had been verified repeatedly by the emotional response of mass audiences. Thus his was certainly not a conviction easily shaken by Zhu Xi’s intellectual orientation and exhortations to “be broad-based first and specialize later.” Indeed, Lu Xiangshan’s criticism that Zhu Xi “pursues learning without seeing the Way, wasting his effort and energy to no purpose,” readily reminds us of Martin Luther’s attitude about Erasmus.11 Overall, while Zhu Xi was bound to prescribe “extending knowledge and fathoming principles” as the doorway into Confucian truth for his audience of scholars, Lu Xiangshan was ready to certify one’s entry into the path to sagehood upon a firm conviction in “first building up the nobler part of one’s nature,” because his audience included the illiterate masses. For that larger and diverse audience, excessive learning not only serves no purpose but also even “aggravates one’s transgressions and guilt.” Such divergences of opinion between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan do not reflect any incompatibility in terms of class interests but do relate to their dissimilarities in family background and social experience. Zhu Xi came from a scholar-official family, and his life experiences rarely went beyond that educated circle. Lu Xiangshan’s family, on the other hand, “had always been [relatively] poor without land holdings and since early generations had been running a medical herb store for their livelihood.” 12 More important, according to Lu Xiangshan’s own Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan •

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reminiscences, “Our family lived together as a unit, and from time to time, young male members of the family were appointed, in turn, to take charge of the storehouse for three years. I happened to have worked in this position, and my learning greatly advanced.” 13 Thus we can see that the Lu family belonged to the merchant class; Lu Xiangshan himself was experienced in house management and had direct contact with illiterate people of the lower strata. Indeed, if his reminiscences are credible, his learning did not entirely derive from books. Zhu Xi once mentioned the social background of the Lu family in a discussion with students: Question: “Regarding the poor among us, is there any harm for them to have their sons who are not involved in studies join the trading profession?” Answer: “If it is just a matter of trading in order to earn a livelihood, there is not much harm. After all, the Lu family also operates a vending shop.” 14

By the Song dynasty, commerce was already quite well developed, and sometimes the boundary between scholars and merchants was no longer clear. Thus new Confucians had to concede the conditional legitimacy of “trading for a livelihood,” although the preceding exchange still reveals Zhu Xi as wary of the situation where one has to “keep the consideration of profit in mind.” There is of course nothing surprising about such an attitude; the Puritans felt the same. From the perspective of social history, the similarities and differences between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan cannot be satisfactorily explained within the realm of pure philosophy, for even as early as the Southern Song, the Confucian ethic could no longer fend off disconcerting questions about merchants. Still, the Southern Song was in the final analysis a society where the scholar class occupied a leading position. In the absence of general support from organizations in society, it was difficult for Lu Xiangshan and his followers to disseminate their teaching on a broad basis among the populace. The Cheng-Zhu School concentrated its efforts on developing within the scholar class, which facilitated it becoming the mainstream current of new Confucianism. Not until the emergence of Wang Yangming in the mid-Ming did the Lu-Wang School manage to stand up to 104

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the Cheng-Zhu School as an equal and challenge its orthodox position. Yet again, the crystallization of this new situation is not understandable by considering intellectual history alone, for the most important factor involved was the essential changes that occurred in the relationships among the four categories of people after the middle years of the Ming dynasty. I shall postpone this point until part III, so I will conclude part II with a brief sketch of the new tendencies in the evolution of the Confucian ethic during the age of Wang Yangming.15 Although Wang Yangming’s famous teaching of “extending the innate knowledge of the good” also emphasized “simplicity and directness,” it would be erroneous to assume that his thought directly developed from the system of Lu Xiangshan. On the contrary, his concept of “innate knowledge of the good” (liangzhi 㢟⸕) arose from a prolonged struggle with Zhu Xi’s theory of “investigating things and extending knowledge.” Zhu Xi’s approach emphasized study, an instructional method for the scholar class. Yet it is impossible to study all the books of the world—and even less possible to investigate all external phenomena. If one must wait until the investigation of things reaches the point where everything “suddenly becomes illuminated clearly” before one can fathom principles and become a sage, not only will the illiterate remain forever in the dark, but most scholars will also have no hope of achieving spiritual enlightenment. Thus after Wang Yangming’s failure, at age twenty-one, investigating the principle of bamboo, he could only sigh and conclude, “It was impossible for me to become a sage or worthy, for I do not have the tremendous energy to investigate things as they did.” 16 Yet Wang Yangming’s sudden enlightenment, while exiled at Longchang at age thirty-seven, was still sparked by the notion of “investigating things and extending knowledge.” Thereupon he “came to realize that one’s nature is self-sufficient to follow the Way of the sages, so it was a mistake earlier to begin by searching for principles in phenomena and events.” 17 Although Wang’s concept of “extending the innate knowledge of the good” certainly involves diverse and complicated philosophical aspects, its origin remains a very simple one: Wang still wished to advance the new Confucian goal of “assisting the world,” which kept expanding in its breadth over time.18 Like Zhu Xi, Wang Yangming had a scholar-official family background, but the situations of Wang’s era made it necessary for him to Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan •

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embrace all “four categories of people” in his teachings. Thus he admonished his disciples: “You took on the bearing of a sage to lecture to the people about learning; however, when they saw a sage approaching, they were all scared away. How then could you manage to lecture to them? You must become one of the people of simple intelligence before you can discuss learning with them.” 19 Wang further explained: In the investigation of things that I speak of here, the same kind of effort is involved for everyone from the child to the sage; it’s only that the sage has become more adept in investigating things and so does not need to expend any special energy. Nonetheless, even a firewood vendor can exert himself and investigate things in this way. From nobles and high officials to the emperor himself, it is still the same way of exertion for all.20

It was for good reason that Wang Yangming’s teaching of the innate knowledge of the good became enormously popular throughout the country, for while satisfying the academic urge of scholars to talk about “original substance” and “effort,” it also aptly met the spiritual needs of the common people in society. The Zhezhong ⎉ѝ and Jiangyou ⊏ਣ Schools generally developed the more academic side of Wang Yangming’s teachings after his death, while the Taizhou ⌠ᐎ School expanded deeper into society. In fact, Wang Gen ⦻㢞 (1483–1541), founder of the Taizhou School, was originally a salt laborer who subsequently joined his father in business in Shandong. It was unprecedented for a merchant to establish his own school of Confucian learning; although Lu Xiangshan spent three years as a youth as a clerk in the family’s pharmacy, he was not personally a merchant. More important, the fact that followers of the Taizhou School included woodcutters, potters, and farmers indicates how by the sixteenth century the Confucian ethic was no longer monopolized by the scholar class but had indeed struck root in the hearts of the common people. Among those most deserving of mention was the potter Han Zhen 七䋎, described in the Mingru xuean: “He took upon himself the responsibility of transforming social mores and, as occasions allowed, gave instruction to farmers, artisans, and merchants. More than a thousand people followed him around. During the lax period in 106

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farming after the autumn harvest, he would assemble his disciples and discuss learning. When he finished at one village, he moved to another one.”21 This large-scale preaching, with farmers, artisans, and merchants comprising most of the audience, was something inconceivable in the age of Lu Xiangshan. That Wang Yangming’s teachings succeeded in generating such an extensive social impact is attributable to his method of teaching. The “simple and direct” nature of his “teaching of the innate knowledge of the good” made it extremely amenable to being popularized to the point that it managed to break through the barrier, which existed in Zhu Xi’s teaching of “studying and understanding principles,” between the new Confucian ethic and farmers, artisans, and merchants. Indeed, Wang Gen was adept at “drawing on the daily activities of the common people while he expounded and illuminated the learning of the innate knowledge of the good.” We know that since the time of Wang Yangming, there emerged the slogan, “The streets are full of sages.” Although those who attempted to explain this slogan differed widely in their opinions, it clearly proclaimed that the Confucian ethic of inner-worldly responsibility no longer belonged to the scholar class alone but extended generally to the public at large. Here, for comparative illumination, we might cite a summary remark once made by Sebastian Franck (1499–1543) about the spirit of the Reformation in the West: “You think you have escaped from the monastery, but everyone must now be a monk throughout his life.”22 In other words, the world-renouncing spiritual cultivation in medieval monasteries had transformed into the inner-worldly asceticism of all people in the secular world. Remarkably, Franck’s comment resonates well with Wang Yangming’s proclamation, “The streets are full of sages,” as well as with the new Chan School’s assertion, “If one wishes to practice, one may do so at home; one does not have to be in a monastery.” A Qing-period scholar, Jiao Xun ❖ᗚ (1763–1820), once commented on the social implications of Wang Yangming’s teaching of the “innate knowledge of the good”: In my opinion, the teachings of Ziyang ㍛䲭 [Zhu Xi] are to be used to teach the gentlemen of the world; the teachings of Yangming are to be used to teach the inferior [i.e., common] people of the world. . . . As for putting into practice what should be and

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exploring exhaustively why things are the way they are, or studying the writings of the classics and the histories, or discussing the essentials of nature and life—only a few scholars are capable of these [endeavors], which cannot be forced on the foolish and the obstinate. On the other hand, innate knowledge of the good refers to the human conscience. Regardless of how stupid, unworthy, and incapable of learning people may be, one can always move them by inspiring their sensibilities.23

The traditional prejudice Jiao Xun revealed may be set aside, and the boundary he drew between Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming is not quite apt either. Nevertheless, Jiao did accurately perceive that while Zhu Xi’s teachings addressed scholars specifically, Wang Yangming provided popularization of the new Confucian ethic, which enabled it to reach the general populace directly. Indeed, this is where the historical significance of Wang Yangming’s teachings resides. Wang’s teachings were to new Confucianism what the new Chan School was to Buddhism. Just as Buddhism never quite developed its foothold in Chinese society until the new Chan School arose, the new Confucian ethic never really completed its journey of socialization until the emergence of Wang Yangming’s teachings. It is not without reason that Huang Zongxi criticized Wang Ji of the Zhezhong School for “degrading Yangming into Chan Buddhism” and commented that Luo Rufang 㖵⊍㣣 (1515–1588) of the Taizhou School “truly grasped the essence of the founding patriarch’s Chan teachings.”24 From another perspective, however, we could see this development in new Confucianism as an inevitable outcome of its efforts to defeat Chan Buddhism on its own ground. As the ultimate wave in the innerworldly reorientation of Buddhism, the new Chan School permeated through the bottom layers of society with its simple doctrines and ascetic spirit. Although the Cheng-Zhu School of Principle managed to win back most of the scholar class from Chan Buddhism, it did not quite succeed in patching up the disjointedness that still existed between Confucianism and the lower strata of society. Wang Yangming’s school undertook this unaccomplished mission so successfully that Buddhism and religious Daoism no longer entirely dominated 108

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popular beliefs and practices. After all, the movement for the union of the Three Teachings in popular culture could have emerged only after the successful infiltration of new Confucianism into the grassroots of society. If one understands this historical role of Wang Yangming’s teachings, the fact that his followers slid “close to Chan Buddhism” should come as no surprise. Another aspect of our inquiry is broached in the addenda to Wang Yangming’s Chuanxi lu: Direct question: “ ‘Xu Luzai 䁡冟啻 [i.e., Xu Heng 䁡㺑, 1209–1281] said that the first priority for a scholar is to secure a livelihood.’ Why do you, teacher, think that such a statement leads one astray?” The teacher said: “Just say that a scholar should have all the skills to secure a livelihood and that will be fine. However, to regard securing a livelihood as the first priority, thus making a scholar scheme anxiously for profit, can never be approved. Moreover, in determining our first priority in the world, what is more urgent than the discussion of learning? Even the matter of securing a livelihood comes within the scope of the discussion of learning. Just do not regard it as the first priority, for that will simply incite the mind to scheme for profit. If you can balance yourself so that neither your mind nor your body becomes weary, then not even engaging in trade all day long will stand in your way of becoming a sage or a worthy. In this case, what obstacle will it pose to learning? And what difference will there then be between learning and the securing of a livelihood?”25

The merchant class was the front line encountered by the new Confucian ethic in its penetration into the lower strata of society, for merchants were already very active in sixteenth-century society. Was it permissible for a “scholar” to engage in commercial activities? As indicated in the preceding discussion, this question had already appeared during the time of Zhu Xi, but it was not a very pressing one then. By the Ming dynasty, however, the question of “securing a livelihood” had become a more acute issue among the scholar class. For instance, the “family precept” of a person in the Ming dynasty admonished his descendants, “A Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan •

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man should regard securing a livelihood as his urgent concern; he should select one from among the options of being a farmer, an artisan, or a merchant.”26 Only when one understands this social background can one really appreciate why Wang Yangming’s student persistently raised the same point, obviously dissatisfied with the answer that Wang had given the first time, that is, that people were easily led astray by Xu Heng’s teaching that “the first priority for a Confucian scholar lies in securing a livelihood.” This questioning spirit constitutes an extremely remarkable phenomenon, and one that we shall continue to examine in part III. What is even more noteworthy is that Wang Yangming’s second response to the student questions was much more affirmative than the one he delivered the first time, even though he still could not grant, “securing a livelihood is a scholar’s first priority.” While it is inconceivable that Zhu Xi could have made any statement linking sages and engaging in trade, Wang Yangming had come to acknowledge, “If you can balance yourself so that neither your mind nor your body becomes weary, then not even engaging in trade all day long will stand in your way of becoming a sage or a worthy.” What Wang meant by neither the mind nor the body becoming weary, of course, is that the “innate knowledge of the good” must remain the master of the self under all circumstances. Nevertheless, since his teachings involve extending the innate knowledge of the good inherent in the mind to all situations in life, and since “engaging in trade” is unquestionably one of the daily functions of the common people, the latter naturally and logically belongs to the realm to which the “innate knowledge of the good” is rightfully to be “extended.” In sum, Wang’s “updated” proposition is consistent with his all-inclusive teaching of “extending the innate knowledge of the good.” Overall, it is readily discernible that during the three hundred years between Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming, new developments unfolded in the Confucian ethic as changes took place in Chinese society. Such changes and developments will be the theme discussed in part III of our analysis.

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P ART III THE SPIRITUAL CONFIGUR ATION OF CHINESE MERCHANTS

T

he developments in commerce from the Song dynasty forward are an extremely prominent phenomenon in the history of China, especially during the Ming and Qing periods. Over the past several decades, indeed, both Chinese and foreign historians have completed many specialized studies in this area of research. It is not my intention here to survey the developments in commerce per se; instead, my principal object of investigation is the spiritual resources and intellectual background of Chinese merchants. I shall limit myself roughly to the period between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, from the time of Wang Yangming (1472–1529) through the era of the school of Han Learning (Hanxue ╒ᆨ) during the reigns of Qianlong (r. 1736–1795) and Jiaqing (r. 1796–1820).

[8] M ING V IEW

S

OF

Q ING C ONFUCIANS ’ “S ECURING A L IVELIHOOD ”

AND

hen Yao ⊸༥ (1798–1840) made insightful observations on changes in the social role of merchants since the Song dynasty. He wrote a preface for the seventieth birthday of a merchant:

Thus Emperor Taizu of the Song confiscated all financial controls within the country and vested them in the government. Consequently, scholar-officials began to find it necessary to engage in agricultural pursuits to support their families; everything had changed from the past. Since officials thus vied with the common people for profit, and scholars who had not yet entered government service had to depend on agricultural pursuits for selfsustenance before they could afford to concentrate on their studies, productive preoccupations became more pressing, and the trend toward trade and commerce grew stronger. Indeed, without fathers and elder brothers managing some enterprise in the first place [and thus establishing a solid economic base for the family], sons and younger brothers would have no means to engage in studies through which they might enter officialdom. Therefore, while in earlier times the four categories of people differed from one another, they were not different in later times; while in earlier times sons of scholars remained scholars forever, only sons of

merchants could become scholars in later times. This is the general picture of the change since the Song, Yuan, and Ming dynasties. Meanwhile, with scholars coming from merchant families, a spirit of parsimony and stinginess intensified by the day. While it is often difficult these days to witness an amiable and philanthropic spirit among scholar-officials, one sees it instead in merchants. Why is this so? Because the empire’s center of gravity has tilted toward commerce, heroes, and intelligent people consequently belong mostly to the merchant class: by profession, they are merchants; in character, they are heroes. Moreover, being the heroes that they are, they understand perfectly the matters of the  world. Therefore they can manage what others cannot but cannot bear to see situations about which others are indifferent. Thus scholars become ever stingier, while merchants increasingly cherish the morals of the past. Again, this is the overall picture of the ways and mores of the world.1

Recent scholars have frequently cited this passage to illustrate the changes either in the social status of merchants or in the economic basis underlying the civil service examination system from Song through Qing times.2 However, Shen Yao’s passage still merits greater attention because of its special importance to our present theme. Since Shen Yao was a poor scholar who failed the provincial examination many times, we should concede that his statement naturally conveys a measure of indignation; nonetheless, his judgment as a whole has firm historical grounding.3 Therefore we can make two major observations from his passage: First, most scholars after Song times came from merchant families; consequently, there was no longer a clearly demarcated boundary between scholars and merchants. Second, because the relative importance of  commerce in Chinese society increased, men of talent and intelligence were gradually attracted to the commercial world. Furthermore, because wealth now fell into the possession of the merchant class, the management of philanthropic enterprises beneficial to the public also progressively shifted from scholar-officials to merchants. Although Shen Yao’s characterization did exaggerate and somewhat vaguely pointed to the four dynasties of Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing 114 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

indiscriminately, it would not be farfetched if taken as a general picture of Chinese society from the sixteenth century to the eighteenth. Toward the end of his “Prefatory Composition,” Shen Yao emphatically declared: “Since Yuan and Ming times, scholars who attained extraordinary success in official careers mostly depended on the financial support of their grandfathers and/or fathers—a fact often ignored by their biographers. As a result, the hardships endured by these grandfathers and fathers during their lifetime while securing a livelihood (zhisheng ⋫⭏), as well as their achievements in philanthropic activities, are nowhere to be found [recorded].” Two brief comments are in order: First, convinced that merchants were already a major driving force in China’s history, Shen Yao proposed that all their activities, private as well as public, merited recording in historical sources. (By “grandfathers and fathers,” he was mainly referring to merchants.) Second, the term zhisheng (securing a livelihood) reflected a central problem in Confucian thinking of the era and one that deserves greater attention than heretofore. Shen’s statement, given his poor family background, also shows his personal concern about the means of support for a scholar pursuing success. In a letter to a friend, Shen Yao specifically raised the issue of securing a livelihood: Song Confucians refused to talk about profit (li ࡙), but Xu Luzhai 䁡冟啻 [i.e., Xu Heng 䁡㺑, 1209–1281] had a discussion on securing a livelihood. Probably, it was unnecessary [for a scholar] to talk about securing a livelihood under the Song but necessary during the Yuan. They talked differently, but their intention was the same. [For Shen’s explanation, see another letter quoted later.] However, what they called “securing a livelihood” means to provide for oneself and for others, and not to fill one’s pockets at the expense of others. Moreover, while Ming scholars did not need to spend much money on their studies, it is impossible for scholars these days not to spend a huge sum on their education.4

While considering the new Confucian ethic in part II of this investigation, I observed that the economic problems of the scholar class had already appeared during the times of Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming; Ming and Qing Confucians’ View •

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nevertheless, Shen Yao’s reiteration of this teaching provides evidence that it was indeed an important issue of common concern in Ming and Qing Confucian scholarship. Now, turning to the views of several Confucians between the time of Wang Yangming and Shen Yao, we will seek to understand new orientations in the Confucian ethic after Wang Yangming and to illuminate the subtle changes in the relationship between scholars and merchants. In an essay on the importance of support, Tang Zhen ୀ⬴ (1630–1704) wrote: If receiving neither a salary from an official appointment nor supportive relief from senior officials in their reverence for the rites or, as the last resort, deriving income from the farming and trading activities, there is no way for scholars to consolidate their assets. Moreover, those who seek their own assets are bound to become petty people. People regard it an insult, to myself, that I became a merchant to earn my living; however, they do not realize that this is how I manage to avoid insulting myself.5

As one who subscribed to the teachings of Wang Yangming but turned to commerce in his later years, Tang Zhen was defending his decision to become a merchant as a means of preserving the dignity of his character. In fact, there were far more than a few cases of scholars becoming merchants, in the manner of Tang Zhen, during the transitional years between the Ming and Qing dynasties. For instance, Fang Shangying ᯩ ቊ⪋ (1629–1662) of Xin’an “studied for the civil service examinations while he was in his teens,” but after the Qing replaced the Ming dynasty, he “thought of the ancients’ statement that a Confucian must not delay about securing a livelihood either. Thus, around the Wuxu and Jihai years (1658 and 1659), Mr. Fang traveled to Piling and for a time tried his hand using Jiran’s 䀸❦ [ancient strategies] for trading. Several years later, he transferred his business to Gusu [Suzhou], where he rented a place near the city’s western gate.”6 This strongly attests to the actual influence produced by the teaching about securing a livelihood. Quan Zuwang ‫⾆ޘ‬ᵋ (1705–1755) provides another piece of testimony in his obituary for his uncle: “My father once related the words of 116 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

Luzhai (Xu Heng), saying that he who engages in learning should also endeavor to secure a livelihood. What he meant by securing a livelihood, however, does not amount to scheming hard for profit, but living within one’s means.”7 In addition, Qian Daxin 䥒བྷ᱅ (1728–1804) wrote a paragraph on “securing a livelihood” that also quoted the teaching of Xu Heng and positively affirmed it. In his conclusion, Qian wrote, “Rather than not engaging in production and begging for money not rightfully gained, it is better to depend on fields and farmsteads and refuse gifts that do not accord with standards of propriety.”8 Judging from the tone of Quan Zuwang’s and Qian Daxin’s statements, they seemed no longer worried by what had deeply disturbed Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming, namely, the consideration that any involvement in managing business or securing a livelihood would pose an obstacle to the pursuit of the Way of learning. On the contrary, Quan and Qian appeared to be very sympathetic to Xu Heng’s viewpoint that one should regard securing a livelihood as “the first priority.” As quoted earlier, a Ming scholar-official’s family instruction already exhorted, “A person should regard securing a livelihood as an urgent concern.” Various people throughout the Qing period elaborated on this idea in diverse ways. First, let me introduce the explanation expressed by Shen Yao in another letter to the same friend mentioned earlier: It is the teaching of the former [sage] kings that people are morally obliged to observe propriety (li ⿞) and integrity (jie ㇰ) only after they are provided with adequate cloth and food. By contrast, Song Confucians began their teaching by proposing that people establish their [moral] will to the point of “starving to death” [i.e., a reference to Cheng Yi’s famous saying, “starving to death is a matter of insignificance (compared to) the major importance of losing one’s integrity” 佃↫һሿˈཡㇰһབྷ]. However, how can we demand a person “starve to death”? Isn’t this a case where the teachings of Song Confucians are even loftier than those of the early [sage] kings, but not based on human feelings? Perhaps Song Confucians could afford to propose such an exaggerated moral formulation because under the Song dynasty, scholar-officials, up to a certain level, generally received extra emoluments [known as cilu ⾐⾯] after they stepped down from office. On the contrary, no such

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extra pay existed under the Yuan. Therefore, Mr. Xu Luzhai [i.e., Xu Heng] turned his attention to the urgency of securing a livelihood.

Again, “Today, we Confucians must take Luzhai’s instruction on livelihood very seriously. Either we strive to engage ourselves in land cultivation or we choose a particular craft as a means of earning a living. I dare say if Song Confucians returned to life today, they would not say anything different from this.” 9 I believe that Qing Confucians generally shared Shen’s view. The point he stressed most emphatically is simply: scholars can maintain their personal dignity and integrity only if assured of economic independence and self-sufficiency. Next, I wish to call attention to some of the interesting new discussions on this subject developed by Chen Que 䲣⻪ (1607–1677), a disciple of Liu Zongzhou ࢹᇇઘ (1578–1645), who was the last great Ming new Confucian master. In an essay dated 1656, Chen defended Xu Heng’s (Luzhai) thesis in a new way: There really is nothing strange or extraordinary about the [Confucian] Way of learning. It serves the person in charge of a state to take full care of the state, a person in charge of a family to take full care of the family, and an individual scholar to take full care of his body (shen 䓛). That is all [the Way of learning] is about. However, the so-called body here is not limited to an individual’s body alone. Everything concerning father, mother, wife, and children is also included in the body’s inner matters. Serving parents above and bringing up children below should not be entrusted to others. Thus, securing a livelihood through industry and frugality is indeed the primary duty of a scholar. . . . I have taken reading books and securing a livelihood as complementary and believe that both constitute the primary duties of one who truly seeks to learn. I even consider securing a livelihood to be more urgent than reading books. . . . It is indeed inconceivable that one learning to be a sage or worthy cannot even support father, mother, wife, and children and must rely on others to take care of them. In making his remark on securing a livelihood, Luzhai was obviously speaking specifically to those who are learning [to be sages or worthies].

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Therefore we are quite sure that there really is nothing wrong with this remark. Rather, it was probably the case that his readers sometimes interpreted it wrongly.10

It would be difficult to overstate the importance of this essay. First, it is a sharp and thoroughgoing refutation of Wang Yangming’s criticism of Xu Heng’s thesis. It is true that Xu Heng’s view was gaining sympathy among Confucians during the Ming-Qing transition. Nevertheless, as far as we can determine, Chen Que was only the first one who made an open declaration that Xu was right and Wang Yangming was wrong. Second, it is remarkable that he redefined Confucian learning in terms of “securing a livelihood” and “reading books”—with the emphasis placed squarely on the former rather than the latter. According to this new definition, to be a sage, a man must first be able to earn an adequate living to support his immediate family. Thus in insisting that people must build moral dignity and integrity based on personal livelihood, he pushed Xu Heng’s thesis to its logical conclusion. Later Confucians, such as Quan Zuwang, Qian Daxin, and Shen Yao, generally shared Chen’s view (as shown earlier). From this context, we may legitimately regard Chen Que as having initiated a new development of Confucian ethic in the Qing period. This observation about Chen Que’s pioneering importance can be further confirmed by other novel ideas he advocated in the realm of Confucian ethics. Two examples will provide evidence. First, the mainstream of Song-Ming Confucianism from Zhu Xi to Wang Yangming projected the polarity of “Heaven’s principle (tianli ཙ⨶) and human desire (renyu ӪⅢ)” as diametrically opposed. Therefore people seeking sagehood must be able to embrace Heaven’s principle fully by ridding themselves of improper human desire. Chen Que made a bold move to question the validity of this long-established dichotomy. Instead of seeing Heaven’s principle and human desires as antithetical, he proposed a completely new way to relate human desires to Heaven’s principle. In his own words, “human desires, so long as they are legitimate and proper, are none other than Heaven’s principle” (renyu zhengdang chu ji tianli ӪⅢ↓⮦㲅ণཙ⨶).11 It is not difficult to see that this formulation follows the same pattern as his exposition of the Xu Heng thesis. According to Chen’s new conception, people should regard securing a Ming and Qing Confucians’ View •

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livelihood as the very basic way to accomplish “legitimate and proper human desires.” As far as is known, Chen Que must be given the credit of originality in redefining the “principle-desire” relationship in Confucian thinking during the Qing period—even though it was Dai Zhen ᡤ䴷 (1724–1777) who provided a mature elaboration of this new thesis.12 Second, Chen Que’s “Discussion on Self-interests” (sishuo ⿱䃚) is another essay of comparable importance to the one on “Securing a Livelihood.” [Note: Much of traditional Confucian ethics (especially during the Song) condemned si as “selfish” or “selfishness”; however, Chen here progressively makes an ethical case for si as a positive consideration of self-interests by the bodily self (shen 䓛).] Therein he recounts: Someone asked me, Chen Que, when replying to my letter, “You have admonished me to control si, so si is indeed difficult. May I ask, do people of superior virtue also have a sense of si?” I answered, “They do have it.” [Asked,] “But how can they be superior people if they have considerations of si?” I replied, “It is precisely because they have [true] considerations of si that they are people of superior virtue. Only superior people can possess a sense of self-interest (si); how can an inferior person have a [true] sense of self-interest?. . . Only superior people know how to love their bodily selves (shen), and only the superior people, knowing how to love their bodily selves, will not fail to extend loving boundlessly.” Moreover, I further said, “Are there any who [loving] their own bodily self, cannot regulate the family, govern the state, and bring peace to the whole world! Superior persons wish to apply, to their own self, the Way of regulating the family, governing the state and bringing peace to the world, and they cannot possibly ‘regulate,’ ‘order,’ and ‘bring peace’ with a bodily self that is not virtuous.”

In addition, Chen Que commented: “Those known as humane, sagely, or worthy persons of the past were all people who began from a consideration for their own self-interest and then extended such consideration 120 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

to the utmost limits. How then can people claim that the superior person must dispense with self-interests!” 13 If we read both of Chen Que’s essays together, we shall be able to recognize where his new contribution to Confucian thinking lies. Due to the challenge of Chan Buddhism, new Confucians of the Song and Ming periods could not help being inclined in their teachings toward the cultivation of the individual mind and nature. By Chen Que’s time, however, the Chan Buddhist threat was no longer so critical, so his focus primarily shifted accordingly to the economic interest or protection of the individual. As a result, he came to the realization that the material well-being of individuals ought to be the immediate concern in the Confucian outlook. Thus, together with the “securing of a livelihood” and “human desire,” he also openly advocated “self-interests” of the individual person as a basic Confucian value. In this case, however, he was promoting a significant change in the Confucian ethic that had been evolving since the middle of the sixteenth century. For example, Li Zhi ᵾ䌴 (1527–1602), the most radical follower of the Wang Yangming School, emphasized the importance of “self-interests” to such an extent that he proposed the viewpoint that si is inherent in the mind of every individual person. Furthermore, in his “Discussion on Self-interests,” Chen Que was actually presenting his personal view on the Confucian polarity of gong ‫( ޜ‬the common good) versus si (conventionally seen as selfishness, but self-interests to Chen). In Song-Ming new Confucianism, it was a generally accepted that self-interest must always be subordinate to the common good; this perception was predicated on the fundamental principle of the priority of the community over the individual. Chen Que turned this polarity upside down, just as he had with the polarity of Heavenly principle versus human desires. Using the pre-imperial unification terminology of the Great Learning, he took “regulating family” (qijia 啺ᇦ), “governing state” (zhiguo ⋫഻), and “bringing peace to the world” (ping tianxia ᒣཙл) as the three levels of the common good to be achieved by every “person of superior virtue” (junzi ੋᆀ). Nevertheless, he did not subscribe to the traditional view that the common good must be attained by eliminating individual selfinterests altogether. On the contrary, he advocated that only when one’s reasonable self-interest had been taken care of could one then be Ming and Qing Confucians’ View •

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able to accomplish the common good at any level. This is probably why he boldly asserted that the sages of antiquity “were all people who began from a consideration of their own bodily selves and then extended such consideration to its utmost.” This new line of thinking about the relationship between the common good and self-interests was also generally shared by many of his contemporary Confucians, including his best friend Huang Zongxi 哳 ᇇ㗢 (1610–1695) and the eminent learned scholar Gu Yanwu 亗⚾↖ (1613–1682). For comparison, consider the following passage from Gu’s writings: It is natural and normal for everyone in the world to be concerned about one’s own family and cherish one’s own children. The Son of Heaven may care for his subjects, but he cannot possibly do better than they can for themselves. This was the case even before [the golden age of the early reigns of] the Three Dynasties [Xia, Shang, and Zhou]. What the [ancient] sage[-kings] did was to transform the self-interests of every individual person into a common good for all, with their [i.e., sage-kings] own person serving as the key link. In this way, a universal order was established. . . . Therefore what is self-interest to every individual person in the world is common good to the Son of Heaven.14

What Gu is saying here, simply put, is that self-interests can best be fulfilled only by the individual self, and the common good comes into being when all individual self-interests are linked together by the state (symbolized as the “Son of Heaven”) into a social order. Elsewhere he summed up his viewpoint in one simple sentence, “With all the selfinterests in the world combined, the common good is thus formed.” 15 To the best of my judgment, Chen Que and Gu Yanwu shared the same emphasis on the fundamental importance of self-interest vis-à-vis the common good—even though they set forth their arguments in two entirely different ways. Finally, this progressively evolving consciousness in Confucian thinking, regarding the importance of “human desires” and “selfinterests,” may well reflect how new Confucians reoriented themselves toward changing social and economic realities during the Ming-Qing 122 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

transition. Consequently, the material well-being of ordinary people as individuals became a major issue in Chinese society with which conscientious Confucians were deeply concerned. Dai Zhen, for example, exploded in a passionate protest over those in power who cited “Heaven’s principle” to dismiss the basic needs of the common people as mere “human desires.” I would not go so far as to suggest that a Chinese idea comparable to “human rights” was in the making because of this reorientation of Confucian thinking. I am inclined to believe, however, that the reorientation has facilitated the Chinese acceptance of the Western concept of “rights” at the end of the Qing dynasty. The following example suffices to support my point. In discussing the “rights” between the individual person, on the one hand, and the whole national community, on the other hand, Liang Qichao ằஏ䎵 (1873–1929) declared: “The combination of fractions of rights will make up the right of a totality. All individual sense of right will add up to a collective sense of rights of the whole nation. Thus cultivation of the sense of national right must start with the individual.” 16 Obviously, the logic of Liang’s argument is the same as Gu Yanwu’s redefinition of the “self-interest versus common good” polarity. Given Liang’s thorough familiarity with Gu’s work, there can be no doubt that it is a case of direct borrowing.17 From Quan Zuwang through Dai Zhen and Qian Daxin to Shen Yao, Confucian thinking seemed to be formulating an answer to the modern question of the social existence of the individual. A Confucian view of human rights seemed on the verge of breaking through the restraints of tradition but had to await appropriate cultural and political conditions in the future.

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[9] A N EW T HEORY OF THE F OUR C ATEGORIES OF P EOPLE Changes in the Relationship Between Scholars and Merchants

W

ith the gradual crystallization of a different understanding of such concepts as “securing a livelihood,” “human desires,” and “self-interests,” the attitudes of the Ming and Qing Confucians toward the merchant class also adapted accordingly. In addition, developments in commerce after the sixteenth century made it impossible for Confucians not to reevaluate the social position of merchants. For instance, a tomb inscription written by Wang Yangming in 1525 for the merchant Fang Lin ᯩ哏 (Jiean ㇰ㨤) shows the subtle changes taking place in the Confucian view of the four categories of people: There was a gentleman from Kunshan County in Suzhou Prefecture named Fang Lin, whose courtesy name was Jiean. He began as a scholar, studying for the civil service examinations; however, after a short while, he ceased [that pursuit] and went to live with his wife’s family, the Zhu ᵡ family, which had been merchants for a long time. One of Fang’s friends said to him, “So now you have left the world of scholarship for commerce?” Fang smiled and replied, “How do you know that a scholar does not engage in commerce, and that a merchant cannot be a scholar?” . . . Grand Historian Gu Jiuhe 亗ҍ઼ [Gu Dingchen 亗唾㠓, 1473–1540] said: “I

once read Fang’s letters to his two sons. His words of advice were all earnest exhortations about loyalty, filial piety, integrity, and righteousness; they transcended popular vulgar talk and were rather like those of a person of ancient times who knew the Way.” I further replied, “In olden times the four categories of people were engaged in different occupations but followed the same Way; they were at one in giving full realization to their minds. Scholars maintained governmental services, farmers provided for subsistence needs, artisans prepared tools and implements, and merchants facilitated commodity flow. People chose a vocation according to the inclination of their talent and the level of their capacity, seeking to give full realization to their minds. Hence, in terms of the final objective of advancing the Way of human life, their vocations were the same. . . . However, when the kingly Way became extinct and learning went astray, people lost their [original] minds and craved for [petty individual] advantages, vying to surpass one another. It was then that people began to think highly of scholars and poorly of farmers, as well as to honor officialdom and despise being artisans and merchants. Nevertheless, if one investigates the facts objectively, one will realize that the scholars were even more opportunistic and blinded by considerations of profit, howbeit disguised under a different label. . . . Looking into Mr.  Fang’s statement on the occupations of the scholar and the merchant, I see it as reminiscent of the truth pertaining to the ancient four categories of people; it was as if he were somehow inspired to say what he did. Alas, it has been a long time since such truth was lost; did Mr.  Fang perhaps hear about it somewhere? Alternatively, did the superiority of his innate qualities enable him to assimilate it silently within his heart? I thus came to ponder deeply on the subject.” 1

I cite this inscription at length here because we could legitimately consider it as an epoch-making document in the history of Confucian social thinking in Ming and Qing China. The historical significance of this piece of writing is evident in at least three respects. First, since Fang Lin was active during the latter half of the fifteenth century, his switch from studying for the civil A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

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service examinations to engaging in commerce could be regarded as an early model for those who “gave up their scholarly careers and became merchants” (a trend we shall discuss later). Second, having begun as a “scholar” in his early years and having thus become steeped in Confucian thinking, Fang Lin naturally brought Confucian values to merchant circles after he changed vocations. Hence it is not at all surprising that his letters to his two sons should contain “earnest exhortations about loyalty, filial piety, integrity, and righteousness, [which] transcended popular vulgar talk and were rather like those of a person of ancient times who knew the Way.” Fang Lin’s example concretely illustrates one of the most important channels (though certainly not the only one) through which the Confucian ethic became integrated into the merchant class. Third, and most significant, we see that Wang Yangming himself offered a new perspective on the Confucian view of the four categories of people. Written three years before his death, this “tomb inscription” surely represented Wang Yangming’s final word on the subject. In part II of this study, I noted that his second response to a student’s question proposed that if one maintained proper balance, “not even engagement in trade all day long would stand in one’s way of becoming a sage or a worthy.” Although the precise date of this recorded conversation is not ascertainable, his opinion expressed therein is consistent with his tomb inscription for Fang Lin; therefore the inscription was not a perfunctory composition executed begrudgingly to pay lip service to the vulgar world but an honest articulation of a genuinely held view. Notwithstanding the fact that it appeared “in the guise of the ancients,” Wang Yangming sounded a new theme when he asserted that although the four categories of people had different occupations, they originally followed the same Way because they were all giving full realization to their minds. In other writings around this time, he conveyed a similar message.2 What is most innovative about this theme is its unequivocal affirmation of the complete equality of status, in terms of the “Way,” among scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants, that is, with no more differentiation of superiority and inferiority. Moreover, his contention that they were “at one in giving full realization to their minds” reflected an extension of his distinctive “learning of the mind” (grounded in an innate knowledge of the good) to all four occupational 126 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

groups. As he put it succinctly in his commemorating a district school that same year (1525), “The learning of the sage is the learning of the mind; learning is no more than seeking to give full realization to the mind.”3 Thus the gravity of the phrase “giving full realization to the mind” is evident, for herein lies the theoretical basis of the proclamation, “The streets are full of sages.” Indeed, if the merchants “give full realization to their minds” in their occupations, they then logically also engaged the “learning of the sages” in a manner that is in no way inferior to that of a scholar. The tomb inscription clearly asserts scholars of the day were in fact more covetous of “profit” than merchants were; scholars, however, found terms to make their pursuit appear moral. Hence Wang Yangming’s composition exposed the prevalent hypocritical scheme of values that “honors officialdom and despises being artisans and merchants.” The fact that the great Confucian master Wang Yangming gave such a clear affirmation of merchants’ social value surely constituted a landmark in the history of Confucian ethics. Yet Wang Yangming’s observation, “in olden times the four categories of people were involved in different occupations but followed the same Way,” reflects the same perspective as Shen Yao’s remark, “while in olden times the four categories of people were differentiated from one another, in later periods they were not differentiated.” Despite their verbal differences, both statements were based on the social phenomenon that the boundary between scholars and merchants was gradually becoming indistinct. A significant difference is that while Shen Yao used historical facts to point out the discrepancies between past and present, Wang Yangming used the framework of a Confucian ideal society to present his viewpoint through a facade of antiquity. Nevertheless, Wang Yangming’s new view of the four categories of people was no mere theoretical abstraction either. For through the social lecturing efforts of Wang Gen ⦻㢞 (1485–1541), who founded the Taizhou School, Yangming’s viewpoint was in fact concretely transmitted to merchants, farmers, and artisans. Thus while retrospectively relating what Wang Gen had accomplished through lecturing, his student Wang Dong ⦻Ἇ (1503–1581) recounted: Although farmers, artisans, and merchants were different in ancient times, everyone was able to participate in learning. . . .

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However, when the Han house ascended to power, only those— who could recite from memory the classics passed down by the ancients—ascended to become masters of the classics and transmit the classics among themselves. Thenceforth they claimed that this learning belonged exclusively to students of the classics and the literati; therefore the learning—sages through the ages had originally illuminated and realized together with all people—thus fell into oblivion and no longer transmitted. However, Heaven gave life to my teacher (Wang Gen), who arose from the [remote] seashore. With his profound sensibilities, he singularly attained enlightenment by returning directly to Confucius and Mencius and pointing directly to the human mind. It was only then that simpletons and uncouth bumpkins, as well as total illiterates, all became aware of the completeness and sufficiency of their own good nature and intelligence—without any need to depend on what is seen and heard and thus troubles the senses. Moreover, this truth, untransmitted for two thousand years, suddenly became clear again. My late teacher’s contribution may verily be said to measure up to the height of the heavens and the depth of earth!4

This eulogy clearly indicates that Wang Gen disseminated Wang Yangming’s teaching that although the four categories of people engaged in different occupations, they followed the same Way. Although Wang Dong’s eulogy might have slightly exaggerated, it surely was not too wide of the mark. Indeed, in Shimada Kenji’s ጦ⭠㲄⅑ (1917–2000) study of the Taizhou School, he quoted this passage as representing a climactic point of development in the modern Chinese spirit; moreover, he presented it as closely related to the flourishing of commerce and the rise of the common people.5 This sound historical verdict stands up to scrutiny. On the other hand, when Shen Yao declared that the four categories of people were undifferentiated in later generations, he was also reflecting on a social phenomenon that began to attract broad attention since the middle years of the Ming dynasty. For example, consider Gui Youguang’s ↨ᴹ‫( ݹ‬1507–1571) accolade for the eightieth birthday of Cheng Bai’an 〻ⲭ㨤: 128 •

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While young, Mr. Cheng of Xin’an sojourned in the Wu region, where the local scholar-officials all liked to associate with him. . . . In olden times, the four categories of people had different occupations, but in later periods, scholars often mingled with farmers and merchants. . . . The Cheng family . . . has many descendants spread over the Haining, Yi, and She areas [in Anhui Province], with no less than several thousand households devoted to studying as a vocation. [With such a background,] isn’t it appropriate that he (Mr. Cheng) be viewed as what one calls a “scholar turned merchant”? Yet being faithful and sincere in character, he subscribes to countless benefactions. Moreover, wherever he goes, he takes pleasure in making friends with scholar-officials. [Viewed this way], might he also be taken as what one calls a “merchant turned scholar”?6

Gui Youguang’s observation, “scholars often mingled with farmers and merchants,” and Shen Yao’s remark, “the four categories of people were not differentiated from one another,” conveyed the same message; moreover, the fact that Gui lived in the sixteenth century indicates how early such a phenomenon began and how long it was sustained. What is especially noteworthy here is that in this passage, the expressions “scholar turned merchant” and “merchant turned scholar” are both preceded by “what one calls” and thus show that such phrases had already passed into popular usage by this time. Indeed, after the middle years of the Ming dynasty, one could no longer easily draw a distinct boundary between scholars and merchants. This was especially true in the case of Cheng Bai’an, whose origins were in Xin’an and hence belonged to the famous merchant group of Xin’an ᯠᆹ, or Hui[zhou] ᗭᐎ, an administrative prefecture or geographical region (in the area of modern Huangshan City in Anhui Province) with an especially close relationship to the Confucian ethic (as will be discussed later). In fact, what Ming and Qing writers described as the “nondifferentiation of the four categories of people” or the “mingling of the four categories of people” referred primarily to the relationship between the scholar and the merchant classes, whose ascendance and decline, differentiation and merging, constituted the greatest change in the social structure of their society. A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

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In fact, not only scholars but also merchants became highly conscious of such changes even at an early date. Wang Xianzhi ⦻⦫㣍 (b. 1500) of the Ming dynasty had this to say about Wang Hong ⊚ᕈ, a merchant from Xiuning: “Master Kongtong オ਼ᆀ said, ‘Scholars and merchants employ different methods, but share the same purposes.’ Growing up in an occupation with an ordinary course of action [i.e., referring to commerce], he (Wang Hong) nevertheless revered the ways of scholars and gentlemen. Is it necessary for one to don an official’s robe to be a scholar?”7 The words of Master Kongtong, as quoted by Wang Xianzhi, came from Li Mengyang’s ᵾདྷ䲭 (1473–1529) epitaph for Wang Wenxian. Therein Wang Xian ⦻⨮ (Wang Wenxian ⦻᮷亟, 1469–1523) instructed his sons: Merchants and scholars have different methods but the same mind. Hence those who are truly good at commerce can cultivate lofty conduct while amid the arena of money and trade and consequently remain undefiled despite any profit they might make. By contrast, those who are truly good at scholarship follow the lead of the classics of the former kings to keep their distance from the path of trade and profit and consequently are bound to gain [deserved] fame and make accomplishments. Thus profit is regulated by righteousness while fame is cultivated by purity of mind, as each abides by a chosen vocation. If this be so even under Heaven’s scrutiny, then descendants are certain to flourish, while the self will be peaceful and the family affluent.8

Wang Xian was a contemporary of Wang Yangming, and his view regarding “different methods but the same mind” also tallies well with Wang Yangming’s statements. Readers will notice that I have ascribed the foregoing statement to Wang Xian and not to Li Mengyang, the writer of the epitaph, because information for the epitaph was, by standard practice, provided by family members of the deceased. Moreover, although Li Mengyang’s grandfather earned his livelihood as a merchant, and Li himself also had extensive associations with merchants,9 the words of Wang Xian as quoted in his epitaph simply do not agree with what we know about Li Mengyang’s own thinking on this score. For instance, in his essay “Gu lun” 䋸䄆 (Discussion on merchants), he launched a special 130 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

attack against the “evil methods of merchants,” whom he regarded as people, “not interested in humane and righteous conduct, but merely covetous of opportunities and profit.” 10 Since such statements display the depth of Li Mengyang’s traditional prejudice against merchants, it may be ascertained that the statement that “scholars and merchants have different methods but the same mind” represents the opinion of the merchant himself—a fact that further enhances its value as a piece of historical information. We shall put aside for later analysis the latter part of Wang Xian’s instructions that touches on the merchant’s conception of morality; suffice it at present to say that Wang Xian’s testimony enables us to observe an example of how Ming merchants themselves had become conscious that their social position was now on a par with that of scholars. Here the words of Wang Daokun ⊚䚃ᰶ (1525–1593) may be cited as additional circumstantial evidence in support of my contention. Wang Daokun had legitimate claim to being considered a representative spokesman for Xin’an merchants: he grew up in a Xin’an merchant family (where his grandfather became renowned in the salt business) that was related through marriage to the prominent Wu, Huang, Cheng, and Fang merchant families of the same area.11 Wang Daokun testified in his eulogy to one of these affines who had served as vice bureau director in the Ministry of Revenue: “South of the Yangzi River, Xindu is famous for its cultural heritage. The traditional custom is such that people become either Confucian scholars or merchants, alternating between the two options like switching official posts. The point is: is a fine merchant essentially unworthy of a great Confucian scholar!” 12 In addition, the Ming published version of the Wangshi tong zongpu ⊚∿㎡ ᇇ䆌 (Comprehensive genealogical records of the Wang clan) observed: In the olden days the four categories of people were not differentiated from one another, and thus among the rocks where one would expect to find fish and salt, there dwelt people worthy of becoming fine ministers and imperial teachers. In what way was a merchant inferior to a scholar! However, such times have long disappeared, and it is not only that scholars and merchants are differentiated, but mores and institutions have generally changed, too. Nevertheless, since there are scholars who sell their integrity

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as well as scholars who cultivate their conduct, how can one be sure that merchants cannot become scholars [in their conduct]? Thus engagement in either Confucian learning or commerce follows its own standard, but [the two] are ultimately one in terms of serving the Way. After all, is a man’s effort at self-mastery confined by his occupation?13

Such arrogant and defiant rhetorical declarations—“Is a fine merchant essentially unworthy of a great Confucian scholar!” and “In what way was a merchant inferior to a scholar!”—reflect newly rooted convictions that merchants of earlier times would never have even dared to imagine. Moreover, as we shall explore more fully later, such statements reveal the keen sense of competition with scholars, which was looming large in the minds of merchants. Meanwhile, to establish the fact that the mentality of Ming merchants had indeed undergone a drastic metamorphosis, we need to compare how merchants of preceding periods thought of themselves. Materials in this respect are difficult to locate, but fortunately, Ouyang Xiu ↀ䲭‫( ؞‬1007–1072) preserved the testimony of a Northern Song merchant, which serves to cast light on the issue: The recent renovation of the Buddha Hall and Bhaiṣajyaguru Vaidūryaprabha’s Court in Xiangtan County was made possible by the contribution of Li Qianzhi ᵾ䚧ѻ, a local resident. Qianzhi trades among the rivers and lakes; a year’s trading brings him an income totaling tens of millions of cash. Deliberating over this, Qianzhi said: “The common people exert their labor for a livelihood. Those who toil hard will receive a large return, while those who work leisurely will receive a meagre return. The size of their return is always dependent on, and proportionate to, their amount of labor, and so they live on their labor without shame. Scholars are beyond what my kind can match, although I consider myself equal to artisans and farmers.” 14

This prominent merchant of the Northern Song period utterly convinced that he could not match a scholar. However, despite his claim here to be equal to artisans and farmers, he even proceeded to confess 132 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

his shame in comparing himself with farmers and artisans in terms of the value of their respective labor. He admitted, “What they [farmers and artisans] receive does not exceed the value of their labor; however, it is different for me. . . . I expend labor in a most leisurely and easy manner; yet what I receive in return far exceeds my labor, so I feel ashamed in front of them.” This statement was entirely in line with the traditional four-tiered social hierarchy in the descending order from scholars to farmers, artisans, and merchants. Juxtaposing the statements by Li Qianzhi and Wang Xian readily enables us to see that between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries, the relationship between scholars and merchants had a rather fundamental metamorphosis, even as the traditional conception of the four categories of people had undergone substantial modifications. Thus both Confucian scholars and the merchants of the Ming and Qing dynasties had come to a revaluation of the social value of the merchant class. The writings of the literati often either purposely or unwittingly revealed that new social reality compelled such reassessment. A few examples will illustrate my point. In “Da zuozhu” ㆄ֌ѫ (Reply on becoming the master), He Xinyin օᗳ䳡 (1517–1579) remarked, “Merchants are greater than farmers and artisans; scholars are greater than merchants; and sages and worthies are greater than scholars.” He also wrote: The greatness of merchants and scholars are visible to everyone, but the greatness of sages and worthies cannot be perceived. Farmers and artisans would like to be their own masters, yet they cannot avoid being directed by merchants. Merchants would like to be their own masters, yet they cannot avoid being directed by scholars. In any case, the greatness of merchants and scholars is visible to everyone. Now, if the greatness of sages and worthies were visible to everyone just like the greatness of merchants and scholars is, what room would there be for people to claim to be their own masters, or for them not to abandon that on which they hitherto relied, but instead to rely on the guidance of sages and worthies? Indeed, it is not just a matter of relying on the guidance of sages and worthies, for these (farmers and artisans) would be bound to transcend themselves and to put what they have learned

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into practice, in the same way that farmers and artisans transcend themselves to become merchants, or merchants transcend themselves to become scholars.15

What is particularly interesting about this passage is that its original intention was probably not a mere discussion of the relationships among the four categories of people; its primary purpose was surely to persuade people to let themselves be “directed by sages and worthies.” Unwittingly, however, it reflected the actual conditions of the social structure of the time, namely, the rehierarchization of the four categories of people in the descending order of scholars, merchants, farmers, and artisans. Moreover, the four categories were now subsumed under two broad divisions—with scholars and merchants belonging to the “great,” and farmers and artisans placed side by side at the lower strata of society. Such a categorization is entirely in line with actual society of the time. Around two centuries later, Yun Jing ᜢᮜ (1757–1817) also wrote much the same thing in his essay on the biographies of money-makers in the Shiji ਢ䁈 (Records of the Grand Historian) by Sima Qian ਨ俜䚧 (145–86 b.c.e.): Since the time of the Three Dynasties [Xia, Shang, and Zhou], those who enter government service have only three paths to follow: to become good officials, bad officials, or obsequious flatterers. As for the rest of those whose mental abilities are above the common herd, they can become Confucian scholars, knightserrant, or merchants. Herein lie all the world’s talents. . . . Thus the merchant class is also a great assembly of extraordinary men past and present.16

Here Yun Jing’s words also reflected, perhaps unconsciously, the actual situation in Qing society, and the final sentence indicates his response to the social prominence of merchants. In fact, he was really discussing only scholars and merchants, for he summarily mentioned “knightserrant” simply because he was reflecting on the Records of the Grand Historian. Thus during Yun Jing’s time, “those whose mental abilities were above the common herd” chose to become either scholars or 134 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

merchants; certainly, farmers and artisan could no longer be socially superior to the merchants. Such social reassessments, however, represented not only scholars’ changing view of merchants but also the way merchants perceived themselves. Thus in a tomb inscription Li Weizhen ᵾ㏝ᾘ (1547–1626) related how Wang Laipin ⦻ֶ㚈, a merchant from Shaanxi, exhorted his sons and grandchildren, “Among the occupations of the four categories of people, that of the scholars ranks supreme; however, if one cannot achieve that, one would rather be a farmer or a merchant.” 17 In addition, we also have the testimony of Xi Ming ᑝ䣈 (1481–1523), a Shanxi merchant who “as a young man studied without success for the civil service examinations, but did not like farming either.” According to Han Bangqi’s 七䛖ཷ (1479–1556) epitaph for Xi Ming, Xi had said, “Even if a man is unable to establish a meritorious name in the world, how can he remain someone’s secondary partner wedded to sweat drops, and not build his own enterprise for his family!” 18 Although Wang Laipin employed the ready vocabulary of nong gu 䗢䋸 (farmer or merchant), there is no question that he was actually saying one had better switch vocation and be a merchant if one could make no headway with one’s studies. Xi Ming, on the other hand, was more forthright, openly admitting that he joined the commercial world because of his failure to obtain “merit and fame,” and that it was absolutely beneath his dignity to be a farmer. It is thus evident that in their own conceptions of the social hierarchy, merchants considered themselves as following closely behind scholars, with farmers far down in the social scale. This acute selfconsciousness of their rising social position entirely accords with He Xinyin’s and Yun Jing’s assessments quoted above. By the Qing era there even emerged the notion that being a merchant was better than being a scholar. Gui Zhuang ↨㦺 (1613–1673), who was at once a scholar and a merchant, observed: [Previously] the sons of scholars had always remained scholars, while the sons of merchants had always remained merchants. However, the ancestors of the Yan family included both [vocations], and Yan Shungong ೤㡌ᐕ further embodied both in the same person. For his own good, however, I thought it would be better for Shungong to concentrate his efforts on commercial

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activities and to advise his descendants not to become scholars, for scholars are indeed very low in social status in the present world.19

Here Gui Zhuang described the social situation, during the time of the Yan family’s ancestors, as one in which “scholars and merchants mingled with one another” and thus again confirmed his great-grandfather Gui Youguang’s observation, “scholars often mingled with merchants.” Even more noteworthy is his counsel to Yan Shungong “to concentrate his efforts on commercial activities and to advise his descendants not to become scholars.” This statement, of course, cannot be taken at face value, for Gui Zhuang was a surviving loyalist to the Ming regime. In other words, a special political motivation compelled him to advise people to become merchants rather than scholars, for he sought to dissuade Chinese scholar-officials from surrendering and serving the Manchu regime. There were already several leading figures among the surviving Ming loyalists who were engaged in commercial activities. Gu Yanwu, for instance, “opened up fields and surveyed lands, accumulating a fortune of a thousand gold”20 and was reportedly connected with the currency dealers of Shanxi. Similarly, Lü Liuliang ੲ⮉㢟 (1629– 1683) was deplored by his contemporaries for his “defiled conduct in the marketplace” because he worked simultaneously as a medical practitioner and in the woodblock printing business.21 Nevertheless, while it was still the exception rather than the rule for prominent Confucian scholars of the time to become engaged in business, there were probably more than a few lesser-known scholars who, for political reasons, “gave up their scholarly careers and became merchants.” A few instances that I have come across should suffice to substantiate this observation. Zhu Yizun’s ᵡᖍሺ (1629–1709) “Buyi Zhoujun mubiao” ᐳ㺓 ઘੋໃ㺘 (Tomb inscription for Mr.  Zhou the commoner) provides an example: “Mr.  Zhou’s given name was Yun ㈄ . . . and he worked at his studies as a youth. When he was nineteen, his father died, and he read the funeral oration and held a memorial ceremony for his deceased father; fellow villagers considered him a filial son. With the upheavals of the era, he gave up studying for the civil service examinations and began selling rice at the market.” At the end, the inscription also mentioned one of Zhou Yun’s deceased friends: “Fan Lu’s 㤳䐟 courtesy name was Zunfu 136 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

䚥⭛; he was a resident of Changshui who moved there from Lanxi.

With the upheavals of the time, he turned to selling herbs in the market. He wrote the Linglanguan ji 䵸㱝佘䁈.”22 In addition, Yao Nai ည啀 (1731–1815) related in a funeral inscription for a Mr. Bao: “The Bao family had lived in She district for generations. At the end of the Ming dynasty, various government students, encountering the dynastic change, did not enter government service again. They included Dengming ⲫ᰾ . . . who sired a son named Yuanying ‫ݳ‬ま and grew rich trading in the Wu region.”23 We could certainly multiply such instances if efforts were made to gather them extensively from collected literary works, literary notations (biji ㅶ䁈), and local gazetteers.24 As far as our present objective is concerned, however, the instances quoted will suffice to illuminate the implicit message in Gui Zhuang’s advice. From these cases, we should realize that the political vicissitudes during the years of dynastic transition from the Ming to the Qing somewhat accelerated the tendency to “give up one’s scholarly career and become a merchant.” More important for our purposes, the dynastic change also greatly helped to remove the social prejudice inherent in the traditional view of the four categories of people, so that scholars no longer held an indiscriminately contemptuous attitude toward merchants. At the same time, we should not overemphasize the impact of political factors, for if scholars’ affirmation of the social value of merchants were entirely due to transient political motivations, it would be impossible to explain satisfactorily the evident development, from Wang Yangming to Shen Yao, regarding the new social concept of the four categories of people. To elucidate this new concept, I shall show the enhanced appreciation for merchants’ social value as manifested in several commercially flourishing regions during the Ming and Qing dynasties. In his Wu feng lu ੣付䤴 (Record of the Wu ethos), Huang Xingzeng 哳ⴱᴮ (1490– 1540) wrote, “These days most officials and scholars in Wu regard trade as an urgent concern.”25 In a similar vein, Zhang Han’s ᕥ♊ (1511–1593) writings about the Fuzhou, Jianning, and Funing areas of Fujian Province provided a cross-section of the Chinese commercial world of the sixteenth century, an account that recent scholars have taken very seriously: “The mores of the time intertwine with matters of subsistence. Most people secure their livelihood as merchants and make sure that A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

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they do not have to wait for relief and assistance when in difficulties. If the year does not go well and a person does not have enough to provide for his own subsistence needs, his neighbors will regard him with contempt even if he is a high official living in a huge mansion.”26 Wang Daokun similarly remarked in an epitaph: “In olden times, scholars were held in higher esteem than merchants were, but in our district, merchants are perhaps held in higher esteem than scholars are. Here, those without sufficient means who do not have enough stamina to be merchants proceed to become Confucian scholars, while those with enough to spare, but not enough talent to be Confucian scholars, become merchants.”27 Wang Daokun also remarked elsewhere, “In Xiu[-ning] and She, merchants are held in higher esteem than scholars; they virtually take the nine chapters [of arithmetic] as [one of] their Six Classics.”28 Other pertinent sources include the Pai’an jingqi ᣽Ṹ傊ཷ (Second collection of Striking the Table in Amazement at the Wonders), “The mores of Huizhou are such that students consider trade as the highest occupation; success in the civil services examinations is only the second desideratum.”29 This observation paralleled what Liu Yuyi ࢹᯬ㗙, governor of Shanxi, reported about his province in a memorial submitted to the Yongzheng 䳽↓ emperor (r. 1722–1735) in 1724: “The established custom east of the mountains is that the idea of profit looms larger than that of fame. Most of the talented and outstanding youth join the trading profession, and the rest would rather be minor officials. Only those whose talents are below average are made to study for the examinations. Thus the scholarly ethos is only a flimsy one.” In response, Emperor Yongzheng remarked: “East of the mountains, it is indeed the case that merchants generally occupy the highest social position. Next, we have people prepared to work as farmers, and still next people who think of joining the army. Only when all other options are ruled out will they settle down to their studies. This is something about which I am thoroughly aware, and a custom that is extremely ridiculous.”30 It is important to note that all these instances belong to either the sixteenth or eighteenth century and thus had no connection with the political upheavals during the dynastic transition from the Ming to the Qing. Geographically, these examples cover the provinces of Jiangsu, Fujian, Anhui, and Shanxi. Shanxi and Huizhou (in Anhui) are particularly 138 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

deserving of attention, for these two areas were the origins of the two most prominent merchant groups during the Ming and Qing periods. Although the observation that people in these two areas even placed commerce above success in the civil service examinations may have been a somewhat exaggerated one, it is at least incontestable that the traditional social conception of the four categories of people was disintegrating. Therefore, in addition to any political implications about the Qing conquest, Gui Zhuang’s advice (to engage in commerce instead of becoming a scholar) had intrinsic significance for its reflection of changing social values. It would be difficult to imagine people instructing their sons or younger brothers to become merchants rather than scholars under the dictates of the traditional social conception of the four categories of people. Views articulated by Song Confucians serve well for an illuminating comparison. The following represents one of the family precepts of Lu You 䲨⑨ (1125–1210), preserved in his “Taishigong xuxun” ཚਢ‫ޜ‬㐂䁃 (Precepts bequeathed by the grand historian): If your descendants have limited talents, the only thing you can do is to make them study. If poor [and unable to afford further studies], they ought to earn a living by becoming a children’s tutor so that they may continue to have access to books. If any don a commoner’s attire with straw sandals and engage in farming and gardening, without leaving any footprints in the cities, this is even better. . . . After all, the way of officialdom is not constant, so have them turn to farming if they do not enter government service; there is nothing regrettable about that. The only thing is that subsistence needs must not force them to engage in the activities of petty people in the marketplace. Guard against this, I say, guard against this!31

Ye Sheng 㩹ⴋ (1420–1474) extracted Lu You’s family precepts from the family’s genealogical records. Even though Lu’s collected works do not contain his precepts, there is no reason to doubt their veracity because what the precepts expressed is entirely consistent with Lu’s thought. For instance, Lu wrote: “If one extends the heart of one’s ancestors to A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

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love one’s descendants, one would want them to be well provided for in food and clothing and to be married at an appropriate time. One would want them to become scholars, instead of descending to be artisans and merchants, or degrading into laborers and servants.”32 It takes little imagination to perceive that Lu You’s views were typical ones rooted in the traditional concept of the four categories of people. In his judgment, the younger generation could only choose their means of livelihood from either scholarship or farming, but the “degenerate” option of becoming petty men of the marketplace was absolutely out of the question. Yuan Cai 㺱䟷 (1140–1190) largely echoed Lu You’s traditional perspective about occupational status. In his family instructions, Yuan Cai advised: If the descendants of scholar-officials have no hereditary emolument on which to live or no constant assets to rely on, and yet wish to fulfill the duty of serving their parents and rearing their children, there is nothing better for them than to become Confucian scholars. Those whose talents and qualities are fine enough to pursue the studies necessary to become a presented scholar (with the highest degree) can at best gain honors and become affluent; if not, they can establish a private school and secure the salary of a teacher. Those who cannot follow through with the studies for the presented scholar degree can at best manage a living by writing formal correspondences and various kinds of letters for others; if not, they can practice punctuating readings and become tutors to elementary school children. However, if they cannot become Confucian scholars, they can then choose to become diviners, doctors, Buddhist laity, Daoist priests, farmers, traders, or artisans—anything is okay that will secure a livelihood without bringing shame to their ancestors. What will shame their ancestors most is if they become dissipated rovers or even turn into beggars or bandits.33

Although Yuan Cai’s standards appear to be a little more moderate than those of Lu You, his insistent message regarding the superiority of pursuing Confucian scholarship remains most pronounced. Moreover, 140 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

if in the last resort one had to change occupation, the merchant alternative was placed almost at the end of the list of options and only slightly better than becoming a beggar or bandit. Having set the views in the Yuan and Lu family precepts against the trends in certain regions during the Ming and Qing periods to “hold the merchants in higher esteem than scholars,” the drastic transformation in the Chinese conception of the four categories of people manifests itself sharply. While we should not exaggerate the prevalence of such new inclinations, the fact is that general views of the scholar and merchant classes had undergone substantial changes from the Song to the Ming and Qing periods. The reasons behind such profound and subtle internal changes in social values during the Ming and Qing dynasties are of course very complicated but are also beyond the scope of the present discussion. Nevertheless, there are two points especially worth mentioning. First, while the population of China increased several times between the early Ming period and mid-nineteenth century, the examination quota for provincial graduates (juren 㠹Ӫ) and metropolitan graduates (“presented scholars,” jinshi 䙢༛) did not increase accordingly, so that the chance of gaining examination honors shrank progressively during these two dynasties.34 Under such circumstances, the daily accelerating tendency “to give up one’s scholarly career and become a merchant” was inevitable. According to the research of Shigeta Atsushi 䟽⭠ᗣ (1930–1973), there were at least forty to fifty cases of people “giving up their scholarly careers and becoming merchants” in the county of Wuyuan in Anhui Province during the Qing dynasty.35 Moreover, there were also a large number of cases (such as in Shanxi during the Ming dynasty) where people turned to commerce either because of failure in the examinations or because they were compelled by poverty to discontinue their studies.36 Second, the achievements of merchants during the Ming and Qing periods also constituted an extremely great temptation to scholars. In addition, the “contribute and accept” (juanna ᦀ㌽) system of the Ming and Qing opened a way for merchants to purchase official titles and honorary degrees; hence it enabled them to receive an official rank or other honors and thus become powerful gentry-merchants in their home areas.37 Let me cite a vivid example for illustration. Hong Liangji A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

141

⍚Ӟਹ (1746–1809) recorded a story about Wang Zhong ⊚ѝ (1744– 1794) while the friends were in Yangzhou:

In the Jiawu year (1774), I was living at the franchise office of Yangzhou. Due to poverty, I was studying at the academy. At early dusk one day, I went out of the gates of the academy with Zhong, each of us riding a donkey and discussing the merits and demerits of Xu Donghai’s ᗀᶡ⎧ Du Li tongkao 䆰⿞䙊㘳 [Comprehensive investigations on reading the Rites]. Suddenly we saw a merchant dressed in the robe and with the badge of a third-rank official coming in a carriage to visit the dean of the academy. Just as he had alighted from his carriage, a student of the academy chanced to be exiting. The student bowed respectfully to the merchant and inquired, “Have you been apprised of the fact that yesterday and the day before, I called at your residence to pay my respects?” The merchant with an arrogant demeanor only slightly nodded his head without answering.38

The latter half of the story describes how Wang Zhong, indignation inflamed, proceeded to humiliate this prominent merchant. What interests us most here, however, is the fact that the Yangzhou Academy student twice called on the merchant and addressed him reverentially. Wang Zhong and Hong Liangji probably belonged to the minority among scholars at the time; the other student’s behavior was more representative of the relationship between scholars and merchants in the eighteenth century. Of course, the merchant acquired his “third-rank badge and robe” through purchase. Finally, we need to clarify a potential problem in connection with the emergence of the new social view of the four categories of people. Given the fact that merchants enjoyed a higher social position than Confucian scholars during the Yuan dynasty, is it possible to see the changes in the relationship between the scholars and the merchants during the Ming and Qing periods as a direct result of Mongol rule? However, the status of merchants under the Mongols was an early exception in China’s history. At least, we cannot perceive any direct influence Mongol power in China (1215–1368) might have had on the changing social status of scholars and merchants after the sixteenth century. After all, the 142 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

commercial magnates utilized by the Mongol authorities were mainly those the Mongols classified as people with “colored eyes” (semu 㢢ⴞ), namely, Central Asians, other than Mongols. This category included such well-known examples as the Tian ⭠ family (of Huigu എ叫 ethic origin), the brothers Alaowading 䱯㘱⬖б (d. 1312) and Wumaer ⛿俜‫( ނ‬d. 1292), or the even more prominent Pu Shougeng 㫢༭ᓊ (1205–1290).39 The most important consideration here is that the Confucian view of social values underwent no fundamental change during the Yuan but remained one that “values farming and slights commerce.” Thus in Yao Sui’s ည⠗ “Zhongshu zuocheng Yao Wenxiangong shendao bei” ѝᴨᐖ юည᮷⦫‫⾎ޜ‬䚃⻁ (Tomb inscription for Yao Shu, assistant director of the left in the Secretariat), we learn of Yao Shu’s ည⁎ (1203–1280) submission of thirty proposals asking Kublai Khan to “remedy the maladies of the time.” One of these proposals reads: Direct troops to open and cultivate wastelands, so that the border garrison posts may be consolidated; and speed up the water transport of grains, so that the stores of the capital may be stocked. Regulate loans so that the Central Asian merchants will not be able to charge compounding annual interest which doubles the loan, like a cow giving birth to another cow until they reach a  thousand in ten years, and thus utterly destroy indebted families.40

Recorded in the Heida shilue 唁䷳һ⮕, this practice of “annual interest doubling the loan” was one in which the Mongol rulers “deposited silver with the Huihui എഎ people, who sometimes in turn lent it to the [Han Chinese] people, such that through the compounding of interest, a loan of one silver ingot would mushroom into a debt of one thousand and twenty-four ingots after ten years.” This high-interest exploitation was known as yanggao li 㖺㗄࡙ during the Yuan dynasty. These proposals, submitted by the prominent Confucian scholar Yao Shu, vigorously advocated the promotion of farming and spinning, as well as restraints on artisans and Central Asian merchants; therefore his unmistakable intention was to restore the traditional order of the four categories of people. Thus although the Yuan dynasty was a A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

143

time when Confucian scholars had few career opportunities, we cannot detect any phenomenon comparable to the one that emerged after the sixteenth century when scholars were “giving up their scholarly careers and becoming merchants.” Still less, of course, can we find merchants proclaiming, in confident self-esteem, “Is a fine merchant unworthy of a great Confucian scholar!” It is true that in Dai Liang’s ᡤ㢟 eulogy to Xia Rongda ༿῞䚄 (1314–1361), we have an account of a successful merchant of Yin County. Yet “scholar-officials” remained the people Xia Rongda reverenced; moreover, Xia came to be “engaged in trade” only because he “found himself in a quandary whether he advanced or retreated.” As the epitaph attests, “Although [Mr. Xia] was not well educated himself, he was nonetheless highly deferential to worthy scholars and officials and receptive to their advice; moreover, he always employed prominent Confucian teachers to teach his sons and grandsons.” 41 At the end of the inscription, Dai Liang also lamented that Xia Rongda’s “achievements were limited like this, so it is regrettable that his talents were not employed by the world, and his aspirations could not be translated into practice at the time.” It was during the last years of the Yuan dynasty that Xia Rongda lived, but still the value of commerce received affirmation from neither the scholars nor the merchants themselves. The traditional social conception that valued scholars and slighted merchants, which Lu You and Yuan Cai shared during the Southern Song, thus remained an enduring one throughout the Yuan dynasty. Yang Weizhen ὺ㏝ᾘ (1296–1370) wrote in his epitaph for Mr.  Qin Xiaoyou 〖ᆍ৻: “When I first came to Wu, I heard that Kun and Taicang were lands of commerce; however, there were two people who did not bend to the dictates of custom but established themselves eminently because of their literary accomplishments and conduct.” One of these two was Qin Yu 〖⦹ (1292–1344), whose words were recorded in the epitaph: “A scholar studies to benefit the world. If he unfortunately cannot enter government service, teaching people to write and practice the principles of the classics is also a way of benefiting society.” 42 This is virtually a reproduction of the view expressed by Lu You and Yuan Cai. While salt merchants were prominent and powerful during the Yuan dynasty, it was rare for literati to eulogize them to the extent that Wang Daokun would in his late sixteenth-century tomb inscriptions, where 144 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

we quoted him rhetorically asking, “Is a fine merchant essentially unworthy of a great Confucian scholar?” Quite to the contrary, what Yuan merchants encountered was incisive ridicule, as Yang Weizhen further illustrates graphically: In life one does not long for a marquisate of ten thousand households; One pines only for the salt profits west of the Huai River. In life one does not long for a mansion of ten thousand gold; One pines only for the salt business with its heavyweight ships. The minister of revenue exacts the salt tax down to the last penny; The common people dare not argue with the awl-sword. The salt merchants were originally sons of humble families, But they alone rival princes in wealth. Station laborers, with scorched heads, boil the franchised commodity of the sea, While the salt merchants wash their hands clean and calculate in their offices. Wrapped in huge mats, three hundred catties a bag; Transported across the fords by oxen and horses, thousands of hooves and horns. Those in charge of the law change the rules and open new canals; The salt merchants become yet more powerful—who can do anything about them? Large ships with copper gongs and drums sail downstream, One examines the system—who else dares to dangle the official steelyard? Alas, the king of the sea does not cherish its treasure, Now taken over, guarded and controlled in a hegemonic manner. How come later generations have erected laws so stern, Merely for these salt merchants to become dowagers?43

This poem manifestly expresses the view that Yuan laws were too lenient to the salt merchants; and the line “the salt merchants were originally sons of humble families” especially reflects the traditional social conception that held the merchants in contempt. At the very beginning of the Ming dynasty, in fact, Zhu Yuanzhang ᵡ‫( ⪻ݳ‬r. 1368–1398) returned to the traditional Han Chinese A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

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arrangement where “legal statutes demean merchants” ( falü jian shangren ⌅ᖻ䌔୶Ӫ). Xu Guangqi’s ᗀ‫ݹ‬ஏ Nongzheng quanshu 䗢᭯‫ޘ‬ᴨ (Encyclopedia of agricultural policies) recorded: In the fourteenth year [of the Hongwu ⍚↖ reign, 1381], the emperor, making a special effort to foster the roots and restrain the branches, decreed that members of farming families would be allowed to wear silk and gauze, while those of merchant families would be allowed to wear only common cloth. Even if there were only one member in a farming family who made a living as a merchant, then the whole family would not be allowed to wear silk or gauze.44

Based on such evidence, the viewpoint that “the four categories of people are engaged in different occupations but follow the same Way” cannot possibly be a direct inheritance from the Yuan dynasty. While merchants had always been very active in Chinese society since the Warring States Period and Qin-Han times, they remained stuck at the bottom of the four-tier scale within the traditional framework of social value.45 It is not until the sixteenth century that one detects traces of the traditional concept of status values beginning to loosen, together with the gradual ascendance of a new social perspective since the time of Wang Yangming. Although the traditional prejudice continued to persist even beyond the nineteenth century, it remains true that the many ideas and perceptions that emerged during the period between Wang Yangming and Shen Yao were a stark new development in the history of Confucian social thought. One would have little difficulty quarrying evidence to show that merchants already had a high profile before the Ming dynasty, or finding arguments to prove that scholars continued to slight merchants even after the middle years of the Qing period. Nevertheless, the emergence of a new social perspective, which reshuffled the four categories of people, remains as undeniable as its historical significance.

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[ 10 ] M ERCHANTS AND C ONFUCIAN L EARNING

W

e may now proceed further to explore the general relationship between Ming and Qing merchants and Confucian learning. Before addressing the main subject, however, I must first make clear that the merchants were second only to scholars as a highly educated social class. This was not only because the common tendency in the Ming and Qing for scholars to “give up their scholarly careers and become merchants” resulted in a large number of scholars entering and remaining within the merchant class. More important, commerce itself also demanded a certain requisite level of knowledge for efficient operation. The larger the scale of the commercial enterprise, of course, the higher the level of knowledge required. Even for the general merchant population, there were many commercial handbooks in circulation during the Ming and Qing periods to provide the necessary knowledge to carry out their activities. According to Terada Takanobu’s ሪ⭠䲶ؑ findings in the Naikaku Bunko ‫ޗ‬䯓 ᮷ᓛ (Cabinet Library) of Japan, the following titles were already circulating: Yitong lucheng tuji а㎡䐟〻െ䁈 (Comprehensive routes: Maps and sketches), 8 juan, compiled by Huang Bian 哳⊤ of the Ming,

collated by Wu Xiu ੣ዛ; published with a preface dated the fourth year of the Longqing 䲶ឦ reign of the Ming dynasty (1570). Shangcheng yilan ୶〻а㿭 (A survey of commercial routes), 2 juan, by Tao Chengqing 䲦᢯ឦ of the Ming; published during the Ming dynasty. Shishang yaolan ༛୶㾱㿭 (Essential reading for scholars and merchants), 3 juan, edited by Danyizi ៪╚ᆀ of the Qing; published during the Qing dynasty. Lucheng yaolan 䐟〻㾱㿭 (Essential information on routes), 2 juan; published during the Qing dynasty. Tianxia lucheng ཙл䐟〻 (Routes across the empire), 3 juan, edited by Chen Qi 䲣ަ of the Qing; published in the sixth year of the Qianlong reign of the Qing dynasty (1741). Shi wo zhouxing ⽪ᡁઘ㹼 (Show me the routes around the empire], 3 juan, including an appended sequel by Lai Shengyuan 䌤ⴋ䚐 of the Qing; published during the Qing dynasty.

In addition, Terada lists the following two books: Santai wanyong zhengzong й㠪㩜⭘↓ᇇ (A comprehensive and official guide to the three surveillance agencies); published in the twenty-seventh year of the Wanli reign of the Ming dynasty (1599) by Yu Wentai ։᮷㠪. Shanggu bianlan ୶䋸‫ׯ‬㿭 (Convenient reading for merchants), 8 juan, by Wu Zhongfu ੣ѝᆊ, with an author’s preface dated the fifty-seventh year of the Qianlong reign (1792).1

Xie Guozhen 䅍഻ᾘ introduces three additional titles: Dingjuan shier fangjia canding wanshi buqiuren bokao quanbian 唾䩛ॱҼᯩᇦ৳䀲㩜һн≲Ӫঊ㘳‫ޘ‬㐘 (Comprehensive survey and complete compendium toward self-reliance in grand synthesis, collectively compiled by twelve specialists); published during the Ming dynasty. Wuke Huijun shiyi jingshu shimin bianyong tongkao zazi ӄ࡫ᗭ䜑䟻 㗙㏃ᴨ༛≁‫⭘ׯ‬䙊㘳䴌ᆇ (Fifth collection of Huizhou Prefecture’s

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guide to the meaning of the classics, with comprehensive surveys and miscellaneous words for convenient use by scholars and the general populace), 2 extant juan; published during the Chongzhen reign (1628–1644) of the Ming dynasty. Xinke zengding shiyi jingshu shishi tongkao zazi ᯠ࡫໎䀲䟻㗙㏃ᴨц һ䙊㘳䴌ᆇ (A new and expanded guide to the meaning of the classics, with a general survey of secular matters and miscellaneous words), 2 juan plus one additional juan, revised by Huang Weizhi 哳ᜏ䌚 of Huizhou Prefecture; published during the Qianlong reign (1736–1795) of the Qing dynasty (being an expanded version of the immediately preceding work).2

All these titles were handbooks compiled, written, and published by the merchants themselves to serve their practical needs. These Ming and Qing commercial handbooks were encyclopedic compilations for daily use tailored to the broad needs of the merchants. The handbooks, in an all-inclusive fashion, covered such topics as astronomy, geography, dynastic reigns, official titles, distances and routes pertaining to trade all over the country, custom and mores, language, regional products, formal correspondences, contracts, commercial arithmetic, and commercial ethics. From the voluminous publication and multiple reprintings of such books, we can appreciate how the merchants of the time found it necessary to equip themselves with reliable knowledge of the objective world in which they were living. What is more, such phrases as “comprehensive survey” and “general survey,” which appear in the titles of some books, might even intimate the social background of the rise of textual criticism during the Ming and Qing periods. Merchants had a worldview diametrically opposite to that of land-bound farmers who lived all their lives in the same village, but also different from that of Confucian scholars who spent most of their time pondering about the mind and inner nature without so much as leaving their gates. Merchants could not afford to remain content with subjective contemplation but had to understand the external world, too. Considering that scholars and merchants freely mingled with each other since the sixteenth century, it is not impossible that commercial activities might even have constituted an external factor conducive to the turn in Confucian scholarship to textual criticism. However, it is not my intention Merchants and Confucian Learning •

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to explore that issue here, since it is tangential to the present discussion. The Ming and Qing dynasties were also times when fiction and drama became enormously popular, and recent scholars have often noted the possible relationship between such popularity and the rise of an urban commercial class. Back in the fifteenth century, in fact, Ye Sheng already indicated: It is rumored among the bookstalls these days that there are profiteers around producing fraudulent fiction and other miscellaneous books, for a lot of southerners like to talk about such subjects as the minor prince of Han (Emperor Guangwu), Cai Bojie 㭑՟ஸ (Cai Yong 㭑䛅), and Yang Liushi ὺ‫( ֯ޝ‬Yang Wenguang ὺ᮷ᔓ), while many northerners are fond of discussing such matters as stepmothers and great worthies. Farmers, artisans, merchants, and traders alike do copy and draw illustrations; every family is in possession of such books. . . . Officials do not ban them, and scholars do not consider them devious; thus perhaps some of them think that such books could serve a cautionary purpose, and so, even add fuel to the flames.3

Even daring to compare fiction and drama to the Six Classics, Liu Xianting ࢹ⦫ᔧ (1648–1695) claimed, “Drama and fiction furnish the main keys with which an illustrious king turns the world; therefore, if sages were to arise again, they will not be able to rule without these.” 4 It is therefore evident that the popular literature favored by the merchant class flourished ever more exuberantly and, simultaneously, it also progressively attracted greater attention from scholars. Moreover, the Sanyan й䀰 and Erpai Ҽ᣽ collections of stories compiled, respectively, by Feng Menglong 俞དྷ喽 (1574–1646) and Ling Mengchu ߼㫉ࡍ (1580– 1644) often drew their material from the lives of contemporary merchants. Some of the stories about merchants—such as “Shi Runze Tanque yuyou” ᯭ▔◔⚈䰅䙷৻ (Shi Runze meets a friend at Tanque) and “Xu laopu yifen chengjia” ᗀ㘱‫܅‬㗙។ᡀᇦ (Old servant Xu’s indignation restores the family) in the Xingshi hengyan 䟂цᙶ䀰 (Lasting words to awaken the world)—either point to a true historical background, which can be verified from local gazetteers, or deal with 150 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

real-life protagonists.5 Hence such literary works have now also become important materials for our study of the socioeconomic history of Ming and Qing society. On the other hand, since social fiction and commercial handbooks both contain popularized elements of Confucian moral thought, they in turn constituted additional sources from which the merchants came to assimilate Confucian ethics. We should also mention the role played by popular religion in the interaction between merchants and Confucian learning. Huang Zongxi’s biography of Lin Zhao’en ᷇‫ݶ‬ᚙ (1517–1598) is of significance for what it reveals about this connection: Recently Cheng Yunzhang 〻䴢ㄐ has been propagating his teaching in the Wu and Zhang areas. He talks about Buddhism at one point, Daoism at another, and includes discussions on Confucianism as well. . . . He touches up the methods left behind by (Lin) Zhao’en but conceals Zhao’en’s name, so that he may claim the credit for himself and thus rise in fame. Concerned that those who fall prey to his teaching may not be aware of its origins, I have therefore composed the “Biography of Lin Zhao’en.”6

What is worth noting here, of course, is Cheng Yunzhang’s Three Teachings. Originally a pawnbroker of Huizhou who later settled in the Wu region, Cheng Yunzhang (also known as Yunzhuang 䴢㦺, given name Zhi Ც) lived between 1602 and 1651. His advocacy for the union of the Three Teachings must have been extremely influential to provoke his contemporary Huang Zongxi to write the biography of Lin Zhao’en to expose the facts of the matter. This case furnishes clear evidence of Huizhou merchants’ participation in, and leadership of, the movement during the seventeenth century to unify the Three Teachings.7 As evident with Cheng Yunzhang, literacy enabled merchants to assimilate ethics directly from Confucianism and of other religions. Furthermore, his example also graphically demonstrates that merchants possessed an active interest in pursuing questions of religion and morality, instead of merely being passively receptive to such issues. In fact, merchants already made self-initiated efforts to seek a better understanding of Confucian thought as early as the sixteenth century. He Liangjun օ㢟‫( ׺‬1506–1573) described the situation: Merchants and Confucian Learning •

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Among the scholars of our dynasty, Xue Wenqing 㯋᮷␵ (Xue Xuan 㯋⩴, 1389–1464), Wu Kangzhai ੣ᓧ啻 (Wu Yubi ੣㠷ᕬ, 1392–1469), and Chen Baisha 䲣ⲭ⋉ (Chen Xianzhang 䲣⦫ㄐ, 1428–1500) also engaged in lecturing, but only to those who shared their same sense of purpose. . . . Did they ever gather so many people? Only Master (Wang) Yangming attracted the most followers! Yet Yangming’s teachings were certainly enough to arouse people. . . . Still, second-rate scholars of subsequent generations were ever so ready to follow suit. Alas! Rarely did they escape becoming a laughingstock of the world! To illustrate with a contemporary of Yangming, Zhan Ganquan ⒋⭈⋹ (Zhan Ruoshui ⒋ 㤕≤, 1466–1560) had many disciples when he was lecturing at the Southern Imperial University. Later, when he became southern director of the Court of the Imperial Clan (Nan zongbo ইᇇ՟) [i.e., Zhan Ganquan was promoted to be president of the Board of Rites in Nanking in 1533], even prominent salt merchants of Yangzhou and Yizhen went to study with him; and Ganquan called them “disciples in the villas.” Such people made requests and pleadings everywhere; even now, people of the southern capital enjoy it as a subject of gossip whenever they talk about it. If this was the case for Ganquan, then what about those whose conduct was not up to his mark? No wonder there is so much disparagement and denunciation of such practices these days.8

The author’s preface in this book was dated 1569, ten years before Zhang Juzheng ᕥት↓ (1525–1582) instituted a ban on the practice of public lecturing. Since He Liangjun himself was against public lecturing, his testimony might be biased. It is of course not easy to determine whether it was for ulterior motives that the prominent salt merchants of Yangzhou and Yizhen went to study with Zhan Ganquan after 1533, or whether it was because they developed a genuine interest in his teaching of “experiencing and recognizing Heaven’s principles everywhere.” Nevertheless, by that time, the vigorous preaching activities launched by the disciples of the deceased Wang Yangming—such as Wang Ji ⦻⮯ (1498–1583) and Wang Gen—were already in full swing among the various strata of society, and it is not unnatural for some salt merchants to have thus developed a sense of curiosity about new Confucianism. 152 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

Indeed, based on the foregoing analysis of the relationship between scholars and merchants, we should be prepared to grant that at least some among the salt merchant disciples of Zhan Ganquan were genuinely pursuing the “Way.” He Liangjun’s point about the salt merchants “making requests and pleadings everywhere” is notable; nonetheless, we cannot deny the possibility of pure motivation among the salt merchants simply because of his testimony. What, in fact, did induce the merchants to take a serious interest in Confucian learning was a conviction that the truths of Confucianism could help them in their commercial management. Thus Lu Shusheng 䲨⁩㚢, who lived during the sixteenth century, had this to say in his burial epitaph for Zhang Jinsong (Shiyi): “[Shiyi] gave up his scholarly career and became a merchant, infusing the principles of accumulation with a Confucian flair (ru yi ݂᜿). He considered meticulous and petty calculations beneath him; only in deciding on the appropriate people with whom to entrust responsibilities did he weigh and deliberate carefully.” 9 What stands out most distinctly in this extract from the epitaph are the two words ru yi. What exactly are the implications of “Confucian flair” here? Judging from the entire context, I believe Zhang Shiyi was referring less to Confucian morality than to the objective principles or rational knowledge of “managing personnel,” “managing affairs,” or even “managing the state” that constitute part of Confucian learning. Hence the emphasis in the latter part of the quotation is the principle of “knowing the right people and entrusting them with the right responsibilities.” In other words, just as scholars would apply the knowledge they had acquired from their Confucian education to the administration of the state, merchants would apply the same knowledge to the management of their business enterprises. Here, Wu Weiye ੣‫ٹ‬ᾝ (1609–1672) has provided us with an even more significant case in point. This concerns a merchant from Rui’an district in Zhejiang by the name of Zhuo Yu ঃ⿪, whose deeds are transmitted in his tomb inscription written by Wu Weiye: The gentleman’s given name was Yu, and his family name Zhuo. . . . For five years, he lived in the capital and sat in vain for the examinations several times. Returning to study in the Wukang Mountains, he investigated even deeper into the learning of nature and

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life. Earlier on, when he had no more than donned his adult’s cap, he was already well versed in Wang Yangming’s teaching of the unity of knowledge and action. With its emphasis on the innate knowledge of the good, Wang Yangming’s teaching was quite close to the Buddhist one of sudden enlightenment, except that both the source and the orientation of his teaching differed [from Buddhism]. Later Wang’s disciples extended the scope of his teaching to manifest the comprehensiveness of their Way, so consequently Confucianism and Buddhism merged. While Mr. Zhuo deeply revered the teachings of new Confucianism and frequently discussed questions of humanity and righteousness with his fellow scholars, he also enjoyed learning from senior monks, like Boshan ঊኡ and Xuejiao 䴚Ꮠ, regarding what to do when faced with doubts and difficulties. . . . From fundamental principles to their application, Mr.  Zhuo commanded an extensive range of learning. There was nothing, from shi and ci poetry to calligraphy, in which he was not adept. Even in methods of securing a livelihood, he could apply himself to achieving the best results. Energetic, resilient, and astute in thought, he dispatched his servants to work in ways appropriate to each one. His annual income amounted to several times his capital, and he was renowned among his neighbors for his enormous wealth.10

Zhuo Yu was obviously also one of those who “gave up a scholarly career and became a merchant.” His tomb inscription did not give his dates, but he was certainly a senior contemporary of Wu Weiye. What makes this example especially valuable is its concrete attestation to the fact that during the years of dynastic transition from the Ming to the Qing, there were indeed merchants who were followers of the Wang Yangming School of new Confucianism. In fact, Wang Ji’s school probably influenced Zhuo Yu’s intention to bring Confucianism and Buddhism together. The Xuejiao referred to was Xuejiao Yuanxin 䴚Ꮠൃؑ (1571–1647), a native of Yin district in Zhejiang. The identity of Boshan cannot be readily determined, but I suspect he might be Boshan Yuanlai ঊኡ‫( ֶݳ‬1575–1630). Two other possibilities are Boshan Zhiyin ঊኡᲪ䃮 (1585–1637) and Boshan Daozhou ঊኡ䚃㡏 (1585–1655), except that their slightly later dates do not qualify them to be exact peers of 154 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

Xuejiao. In any case, there is no doubt not only that Zhuo Yu had a profound conviction about both new Confucianism and Buddhism, but also that he relied on these spiritual resources as a guide to the management of his business. As his younger cousin Zhuo Erkang’s ঃ⡮ᓧ (i.e., Zhuo Zuoju ঃᐖ䓺) evaluation of him strongly corroborates, Zhuo Yu may be considered a typical example of one who applied the other-worldly spirit to his innerworldly preoccupations. Zhuo Zuoju’s testimony, as cited by Wu Weiye, follows: According to Bai Gui’s ⲭ൝ views on the securing of a livelihood, wisdom does not suffice for flexible application, valor does not suffice for resolute decision, humaneness does not enable us to duly acquire and give, and strength does not always enable us to persevere. One might have learned all the theoretical aspects of a trade, but in the final analysis, one cannot convey it (the trade) [through theory]. Wisdom, humaneness, valor, strength—these are the concerns of the Confucian scholars; but when applied to commercial activities, the important things lie in choosing the right people and making good use of opportune moments in consolidating one’s base and exerting oneself industriously—all of which could be managed only by those who are steeped in learning. Now my own learning cannot compare with that of my cousin. Moreover, speaking of my cousin’s actions in aiding the neighborhood, he once spent a thousand gold coins to repair bridges that had become dilapidated, and in years of starvation he saved hundreds of lives by providing them with the grain stocked in his storehouses. With his profound insight into the distinction between uprightness and profit which we Confucians hold, as well as the Buddhist discussions of external things [needed to sustain our inner life], how can he be compared to those mercenaryminded opportunists who merely stock up their commodities for the sake of profiteering!11

Bai Gui’s remarks on wisdom, humanity, valor, and strength, it may be noted, come from the “Biographies of the Money-Makers” in the Shiji (Records of the Grand Historian); although these four virtues were Merchants and Confucian Learning •

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Confucian moral categories, they could be generalized and applied to the realm of trade. In fact, they serve perfectly to explain what was said earlier about Zhang Shiyi’s “infusing the principles of accumulation with a Confucian flair,” that is, not limited to the moral teachings of Confucianism but rather encompassed a broader general import. Indeed, judging from the “Biographies of the Money-Makers” and the words of Zhuo Zuoju, we would better understand the term “Confucian flair” as the ability to master the objective laws of the commercial world. Thus when Zhuo Zuoju remarked, “such things could only be managed by those who are steeped in learning,” this “learning” was certainly not the Confucian “learning of the sages and worthies” but the “learning” of Duke Tao Zhu 䲦ᵡ‫( ޜ‬i.e., Fan Li 㤳㹑, 536–444 b.c.e.) and Bai Gui that sought to acquire riches through the most rational means.12 At the same time, however, what Zhuo Zuoju alluded to in the latter half of the passage, “the distinction between righteousness and profit which we Confucians hold,” clearly points to the impact of Confucian moral concepts on Zhuo Yu. Indeed, the instances Zhuo Zuoju cited of Zhuo Yu’s “actions in aiding the neighborhood” provide direct testimony to support Shen Yao’s assertion that “the amiable and philanthropic spirit came to be perceivable in the merchants.” Specific examples manifesting such a spirit can be found throughout the literary writings of the Ming and Qing periods, and their significance will be further discussed soon. If we closely examine the details of Wu Weiye’s “Tomb Inscription for Zhuo Haichuang,” we shall realize that the relationship between Confucian scholars and merchants needs to be understood on two different levels. The first level of “Confucian learning” is equivalent to what Lu Shusheng described as the “Confucian flair”; thus it refers to what the merchants had generally acquired through education, including his knowledge of the classics, histories, philosophies, literary works, and so forth. However, since such attainments could be acquired only through a Confucian education, any merchant who had studied at all could be considered to possess a “Confucian” background that would theoretically qualify him intellectually as a “Confucian” in a general sense, which is morally neutral in import. The second level refers to the direct or indirect influence that the moral norms of Confucianism exerted on

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the manifested conduct and actions of merchants. Although this level points straight to the source of a mercantile ethic, this issue is not a simple one either, because it touches on the differences in educational level among individual merchants. While a highly educated merchant, such as Zhuo Yu, could directly assimilate Wang Yangming’s moral teaching of the innate knowledge of the good, barely literate merchants would probably have to rely on popularized versions of the Confucian ethic for inspiration. Moreover, the precise perimeters of Confucian thought are not easy to delineate, for by that time Confucianism already mixed with Buddhist, Daoist, and other elements in the context of both elite and popular culture. A further complication was that the boundary between the two levels of Chinese culture is hard to define distinctly. All these problems present significant difficulties to research; but fortunately, our present discussion does not require an intricate analysis of these issues since we are only presenting an overview of the situation under consideration. After all, it is merely for convenience of our discussion that we have differentiated the relationship between merchants and Confucian scholars into two levels. It does not mean that the merchant community readily split into two divisions: one concentrated on putting Confucian knowledge into utilitarian application, while the other focused on accepting Confucian morals. As concrete examples below will further demonstrate, these two levels were often intertwined and difficult to separate from each other in reality. We shall first take up the second level, specifically the question of moral influence. There are noteworthy examples of merchants being influenced by the Confucian ethos of their native place. Just as Zhuo Yu at an early age adopted the Zhejiang legacy of Wang Yangming’s teaching of the unity of knowledge and action, merchants of Huizhou were inspired in good measure by Zhu Xi’s teaching. For instance, Zhao Jishi 䏉ਹ༛ (1628– 1706) wrote: The various families in Xin’an district dwell together as clans; there is never a member of any family being confused as belonging to another family. Their ethos is most reminiscent of ancient times. Whether coming in or going out, they always show

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deference to elderly people. All those with the same family name gather together in a common ancestral temple, and during the year’s summer and winter sacrifices, thousands of males from the same village will assemble and follow the family rites of Zhu Xi in their sacrifices, with everything done according to the requirements of refinement and propriety.13

In much the same vein, Dai Zhen also pointed out in his biographies of the chaste women of his clan: “There are few areas of plains and wilderness in my home prefecture; people dwell along the hills. Going eastward and westward, merchants travel away from home and manage their business in far-off places to earn a living. Yet, endowed with the vital energy (qi) of the hills, the people are of solid moral quality, and  they value integrity. Although they are merchants, their ethos is akin to that of scholars.” 14 Since Zhao and Dai were both natives of Xiuning, their summary accounts of the ethos of Huizhou during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries are of course reliable. Moreover, it is well known that Huizhou merchants did venerate Zhu Xi: during the Qing dynasty the Huizhou guilds, located in various places, all “showed reverence to, and made offerings to, Master Zhu,” and extant genealogical records of the Huizhou people included Zhu Xi’s Jia li ᇦ⿞ (Family Rituals), too.15 More specifically, Wu Weiye provided us with an actual case, illustrating Zhu Xi’s influence on Huizhou merchants. Wang Fengling ⊚匣 喑 (1583–1667), a native of the Tangmo village in Huizhou, “sat for the examinations several times but was repeatedly unsuccessful.” Once, sighing in deep dejection, Wang said: Is our Xin’an not the ancestral land of Wengong (Zhu Xi), State Duke of Hui? Now the subtle teachings of the former sage of the Ziyang Academy, as well as the explanations of the various Confucian scholars, are all extant; why don’t people take pleasure in studying them? Moreover, in every generation of our Wang family, there have been those who became prominent officials and successful merchants. If riches and honors now disappear and sink into oblivion, wouldn’t it be better for me to simply be a teacher and end my life in a village school?

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Thus Wang Fengling came from a family tradition in which scholars and merchants mingled without differentiation. In fact, every one of his eight sons later became merchants, “well-known for their filial piety and prudence, who were sincere in cultivating their conduct and amiability.” It is revealing to see how Wang Fengling admonished them: Does the biography of Duke Tao Zhu (i.e., Fan Li) not say that one should listen to one’s sons and grandchildren when one is decrepit? Because I dwell in reclusion, I have been negligent about my duty to secure my livelihood, so it is good that my sons have set their aspirations [on trading] in the four directions. Just guide yourself with propriety and righteousness so that you do not disgrace Confucian methods (ru shu ݂㺃), and you shall have fulfilled my wishes.16

This example shows graphically how Zhu Xi’s moral concepts disseminated to merchants. Other important pieces of evidence also bear witness to Ming and Qing merchants’ ardent interest in Confucian thought. To begin with, quite a number had a penchant for Confucian moral precepts, such as “recorded conversations” and “mottos.” I will just cite a few examples for illustration: 1. Xi Benjiu ᑝᵜѵ (1599–1678) was the son of a prominent merchant who came from the Dongting Mountains near Lake Tai in Jiangsu. Having failed the examinations several times, he gave up his scholarly career and became a merchant. “In his leisure time he would occupy himself at the desk of his curtained pavilion and copy up to several dozen fascicles of the recorded conversations of the various prominent Confucians. On one occasion, he also annotated the Classic of Filial Piety, and having thoroughly studied and contemplated deeply on the Book of Changes, he was particularly expert on it.” 17 2. Xi Qitu ᑝஏെ (1638–1380), a nephew of Xi Benjiu and a great entrepreneur from the Dongting Mountains, was described by Wang Wan in his “Xi Sheren muzhiming” ᑝ㠽Ӫໃ䂼䣈 (Epitaph for drafter Xi): “He was fond of studying and built a collection of

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books that accumulated to tens of thousands of fascicles. Thereupon, he set about editing the laudable words of former worthies, as well as the records relating their meritorious conduct, by dividing them neatly into sections and items and collating them into several fascicles, which he called the Xude lu ⮌ᗧ䤴 (Records in preservation of virtue). Late in life, he suffered from chronic rheumatism over several years, but he responded by locking the door and working on the book even more intensively than before. At the end of his compiled work, he wrote the following words: ‘When my illness was driving me to the brink of death, my only regret was not having completed this book. Now that I have recovered a little, if I do not work hard to complete it, but instead dare to indulge in idle pleasures, I shall not be able to face the former worthies in the underworld.’ In fact, so industrious was he in the pursuit of learning that when his sickness reached a point where he could not even turn from side to side, he would place a book on the bed mat and bend his head to read it. I have therefore purposely looked into his conduct and his affairs and concluded that they had mostly been inspired by the former worthies.” 18

These two examples are from the Xi family of the Dongting Mountains, and there might have been some reciprocal influence between uncle and nephew. Xi Qitu not only displayed an extremely keen sense of modern management in running his textiles enterprise but also manifested everywhere his “amiable and philanthropic” spirit in his acts of benefaction to his clansmen as well as his neighbors, which adds another substantial piece of evidence in support of Shen Yao’s observation.19 In this light, Wang Wan’s comment that Xi Qitu “had largely been inspired by the former worthies in his conduct and affairs” becomes especially noteworthy. 3. Zhang Ce ㄐㆆ (1792–1841), a native of Jixi district in Huizhou, gave up his scholarly career and became a merchant upon his father’s death. Professionally, he was an “expert in the [entrepreneurial] skills (or techniques) of Guan [Zhong] ㇑Ԣ (720–645 b.c.e.) and Liu [Yan] ࢹ᱿ (716–780); his speculations were always right, and his family grew richer as the days went by.” Yet amid all

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his commercial activities, he was at the same time a hard-working student, regularly reading “the recorded conversations of former Confucians and selecting those which he considered appropriate for his self-cultivation to inspire himself. For this reason, his knowledge and faculties far surpassed other people.”20

This example is the most convenient one for illustrating the two levels of relationship between the Confucians and the merchants outlined earlier. For on the one hand, Zhang Ce’s “expertise in the skills of Guan and Liu” represents the objective knowledge he acquired from his Confucian education (the learning of the philosophers and historians), which was instrumental in helping him to understand the laws of the commercial world and hence achieve success. At the same time, however, Confucianism also provided him with the source of his mercantile ethic, through the “recorded conversations of the former Confucians” with which he used to guide and discipline himself. 4. The life and deeds of Wang Dalai ⦻བྷֶ (1676–1712, place of origin uncertain) emerged admirably from the statement given by his brother Wang Cangping ⦻㫬ᒣ as recorded by Fang Bao ᯩ㤎: “Then we were three brothers altogether. Our father ordered me to study, my younger brother to manage the household, and Dalai [the youngest] to work as a trader. After my younger brother’s death, everything inside and outside the household came under the care of Dalai, who never failed to do his utmost in anything that would satisfy our parents’ wishes. Family members, as well as relatives who were destitute or in dire difficulties, all relied on him for assistance. A certain good friend of my father had no son, and Dalai provided for him until his death. As for fellow townsmen who had traveled to the capital but were encumbered for various reasons, he never failed to relieve them financially so that they could return home. Moreover, he never kept any fortune to himself. . . . Although Dalai was not well read in the histories, whenever he heard about the meritorious conduct of people past and present, he would contemplate on it for a long while. When I entered his door, I saw the walls around the windows and doors of his house all covered with mottos he had written. Although his

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name was not prominent, Dalai’s conduct certainly lived up to the standard of a scholar and gentleman. Therefore I hope his deeds will be recorded in commemoration.”21 5. She Zhaoding ֈ‫ݶ‬唾 (1633–1705) was native of She district in Anhui. As related by Fang Bao’s “Shejun muzhiming” ֈੋໃ䂼䣈 (Epitaph for Mr. She), She Zhaoding “gave up studying at an early age and had not even read half of the Great Learning. But after he became a merchant, he grew fond of books; every day he would record ancient people’s mottos as well as accounts of their beneficent acts and practice them himself.”22

The two merchants for whom Fang Bao wrote epitaphs were both engaged in medium- or small-scale businesses, and neither attained a very high level of education. It is strikingly noticeable—and noteworthy— that they did not study the “recorded conversations” of Confucian masters but instead concentrated on gathering “mottos,” which shows that for less well-educated merchants, the source of their spiritual strength lay mainly in the Confucian ethic transmitted through popular culture. In addition to the aforementioned instances, there are also other cases where “recorded conversations” or “mottos” were not specifically mentioned, but which to all intents and purposes may be grouped within the same category of examples. 6. Shen Fangxian ⊸ᯩ២, a native of Haining district in Zhejiang, lived during the late Ming and early Qing periods. His deeds were recorded in an account by Chen Que appended to the latter’s “Shu Pan Liefu beiwen hou” ᴨ█⛸႖⻁᮷ᖼ (Written at the end of the tomb inscription for chaste woman Pan): “Ten years ago I (Chen Que) crossed the Xia Mountains to call on my dear friend. In his house, I saw some words on a paper screen written in blood, ‘May I not drink wine, eat meat, or sleep in my bedroom for three years.’ I asked my dear friend, ‘Who wrote these words in blood?’ He replied: ‘It was my cousin Shen Fangxian who was living with me. He wrote this because his father had traveled far away on official business and died on account of it, but the corpse had not yet been sent back.’ ‘What is his occupation?’ ‘He is in the cloth and rice trade.’ ‘Just based on his words, not to mention his aspirations and

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conduct, can he be a mere rice merchant!’ My dear friend explained, ‘He did pursue Confucian studies earlier, but because of poverty he could not provide for his parents, so he gave up his scholarly career and became a merchant.’ Thus Shen Fangxian would emerge in my mind from time to time. I had tried to inquire into his daily activities by gathering information from the elders of Xia district and found out even more that Fangxian was not only sincere in motivations and truthful in conduct but also astute and industrious in working to improve the fortunes of his family. He not only managed to pay back all the old debts incurred by his father but also used what remained to provide for his mother as well as nurture his younger brothers and sisters, until he married them off—all according to standards of propriety. What is more, the Xia people all commended him for the reasonableness and fairness of his methods in business. ‘Extraordinary indeed!’ I remarked, ‘While these days all Confucian scholars bring a utilitarian mind to their studies, Fangxian applies his learning to commerce. We can say that someone like Fangxian truly loved learning. Does learning merely mean the labor of studying for the examinations!’”23

This is another instance of “giving up a scholarly career and becoming a merchant.” In commending Shen Fangxian for “applying his learning to commerce,” what Chen Que meant was that Shen extended the Confucian ethic to the commercial realm, thus graphically illustrating what Wang Yangming described as the four social categories “being engaged in different occupations but following the same Way.” The Confucian pledge, which Shen wrote on the paper screen in his own blood, testifies to the sincerity and earnestness of his moral convictions, and there is no doubt that the “reasonableness and fairness of his methods in business” similarly derived from Confucian morality. So much were the admirable deeds and conduct of Shen Fangxian on the lips of everyone in Zhejiang at the time that they were also recorded by Zhang Lüxiang ᕥን⾕ (1611–1674) in his collected works: Shen Fangxian of Haining descended from an ancient family. He traded in the town of Xiashi, where people all respected his

Merchants and Confucian Learning •

163

honesty. By nature, he was sincere and filial; when his parents died, he pierced his fingers and wrote in blood the words “no drinking wine, no eating meat, no sleeping in the bedroom” at this dwelling, abiding by them without any lapse. His younger sister was married to a Mr. Pan of the same village. After her husband died, she saw the funeral matters through, then cried painfully for seven days and died. Everyone commended her for sacrificing her life to manifest her integrity. (Quoted in the original annotation at the end of Chen Que’s composition)

Apart from the error—“his parents died” should have been “his father died”—what Zhang Lüxiang recorded is entirely in agreement with what Chen Que had seen on the screen. This proves that Shen Fangxian’s story must have been a truthful account and certainly not the fulsome fabrication of an obsequious elegiac composition. If anything, the credibility of the various instances cited, showing how merchants faithfully abided by the moral precepts assimilated from “recorded conversations” and “mottos,” now becomes enhanced by inference in light of Shen Fangxian’s historically reliable paradigm. 7. Zhou Shidao ઘц䚃 (1722–1786) was a salt merchant in Hangzhou. His life was related by Lu Wenchao ⴗ᮷ᕘ in the latter’s Zhoujun Tanzhi jiazhuan ઘੋඖѻᇦۣ (Biography of the family of Zhou Shidao), written in 1786: “Since his youth Shidao was intelligent and industrious. When he was seventeen, [his father] Mr.  Jinmen 䠁䮰 broke down from chronic overwork. With the salt enterprise bequeath by his father repeatedly sustaining losses, and in the absence of a suitable person to whom to entrust the business, Shidao had no alternative except to shoulder the responsibility himself. Cutting down on various unaccounted expenditures, he managed to revive the business a little in due course. When his younger brother died, the orphaned son Zaizhang 䔹ㄐ was merely one year old, but Shidao spared no effort in nurturing and teaching his nephew, so that at nineteen Zaizhang passed the provincial examination. Among other things, Shidao also maintained the grave tombs of his ancestors, repaired the ancestral temple, and compiled the family’s history. There was nothing

164 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

where he did not do his best to help other members of the Zhou family. In instructing his sons, he said, ‘At home take filial piety and amiability as the basis; in conducting oneself in society uphold harmony and peace as the top priority.’ Alas! Shidao veritably put his own words into practice. I remember having once as a young man read his family history; most of his ancestors were renowned for being filial and amiable. There can be no doubt that Shidao was worthy of his ancestors.”

Being an elder cousin of Zhou Shidao, Lu Wenchao was thoroughly familiar with the circumstances of the Zhou family, which, as we have seen, had been engaged in the salt trade for generations but abided by a typically Confucian ethic. As Lu Wenchao remarked at the end of the biography, “I have heard that Shidao was honest even in his handling of money matters, and so was able to preserve his filial piety and amiability.”24 Here Lu’s perception of “honesty” as an extension of “filial piety” and “amiability” is consistent with what we have seen in Shen Fangxian’s case. It is also worth mentioning that Zhou Shidao’s instruction to his sons was one of the so-called mottos of the time. In one of the aforementioned handbooks published during the Qing dynasty, an entry especially emphasized, “Whether in preserving one’s mind or conducting oneself in society, devote oneself to centrality and harmony.”25 Its meaning is in complete accord with Zhou’s own precept, “In conducting oneself in society, uphold harmony and peace as the top priority,” which suggests these were commonly accepted ideals among the merchants of the time. 8. Qu Lianbi ⷯ䙓⫗ (1716–1786) was a native of Jiading district in Zhejiang, about whom Qian Daxin 䥒བྷ᱅ (1728–1804) wrote in his “Qu Fengweng muzhiming” ⷯሱ㗱ໃ䂼䣈 (Epitaph for Qu Lianbi): “Orphaned when he was nine, Mr. Qu experienced as a boy the sadness and devastation of an adult. Subsequently, because of the degeneration of the family’s fortune, the problem of securing a livelihood became a pressing necessity. Since our district is renowned for its cotton, which reaches all parts of the country, Mr. Qu went to Wumen (Suzhou) and started his trading business. He tried his hand at Jiran’s strategies, saved up his

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profits, and so grew affluent in due course. By nature upright and honest, Mr. Qu always acted by the dictates of righteousness and never made promises lightly. He was cautious and circumspect in his deliberation of matters, for his thoughts attended to both the overall situation and the fine details. Whether in managing his  family or in handing affairs, he acted as was appropriate to principle. . . . In addition, he personally set the family genealogical records straight, laying out the information in an orderly fashion. His former abode lay south of the prefectural Confucian school, which had become dilapidated over the years. Mr.  Qu repaired and renovated it, and even though he later moved his family to Suzhou, he continued to call himself Xuenan ᆨই (south of the school), to show that he had not forgotten his roots. In his youth, he studied with Attendant Censor Shi Xiyan ᱲ㾯ᐆ and was thus familiar with the town’s past affairs and anecdotes; he never got weary in discussing the laudable words and benevolent deeds of venerable men of former generations. In turn, he was strict and methodical in instructing his descendants. . . . In his late years, he collected a lot of prescriptions and herbs and was careful to take medicine. He formerly quoted the ancients’ saying, ‘Good words should always be on the lips; good medicine should always be at hand,’ and recited the precept for me.”26

It is notable that Qu Lianbi’s grandfather “built up his family as a classicist (ming jing ᰾㏃),” that is, a provincial degreed graduate (juren); moreover, his second son and several of his grandsons—one of whom was the son-in-law of Qian Daxin—were also “engaged in Confucian learning.” All these examples again support Shen Yao’s observations that “the four categories of people were undifferentiated,” and “scholars mostly came from merchant families.” Note, too, that Qu Lianbi was fond of discussing the “laudable words and benevolent deeds of venerable men of former generations,” which shows that he was constantly attentive to such things as “recorded conversations” and “mottos.” The “ancients’ words” that he recited actually came from Meng Shen ᆏ䂥 (621–713), who stated, “He who cultivates his nature must always have good words on his lips and good medicine at hand.”27 Not being a very highly educated man, however, Qu Lianbi had probably not read that 166 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

passage in Ouyang Xiu’s New Tang History; and the expression “the ancients’ words” is surely an addition by the resourceful Qian Daxin. In fact, this statement had already evolved into a popular proverb by Qing times. It was included in the Tongsu bian 䙊؇㐘 (Compendium of common and popular sayings) compiled by Zhai Hao 㘏⚍ during the first half of the eighteenth century.28 This context indicates that Qu Lianbi’s ability to utter the statement spontaneously was indeed due to his constant effort in collecting such maxims and mottos. In sum, the eight instances described amply illustrate merchants’ serious regard for “recorded conversations” and “mottos.” The examples span the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and the three provinces of Jiangsu, Anhui, and Zhejiang, where commerce developed particularly well at the time. The accounts I have quoted are not the results of deliberate research but simply a few items incidentally recorded in the process of reading the literary works of various writers. While any purposive attempt at systematic search and collection will certainly yield far more examples than have been offered here, I am convinced that these randomly sampled instances are of considerable representative value and at least suffice to explicate some of the chief contentions or questions of the present discussion. Were the Ming and Qing merchants concerned at all with questions of morality? Did they actively seek to establish moral norms for themselves? If they did, then whence lay the source of their morality? Moreover, through what specific channels did they acquire it? We should not make vague or speculative assumptions about these critical questions “as a matter of course,” and I believe the instances listed have served to provide some answers to these questions. Based on such substantial evidence, the significance of the ardor with which prominent sixteenth-century Yangzhou salt merchants sought to study with Zhan Ruoshui needs a reassessment. In what follows we shall address the question of the actual moral practice of merchants.

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167

[ 11 ] T HE M ERCANTILE E THIC

T

he mercantile ethic of the Ming and Qing periods is an extremely interesting and complicated issue, but owing to space limitations, the present section can only attempt a general discussion of its significance. Here our main concern lies not merely in describing how merchants subscribed to certain ethical teachings but, more important, in elucidating their actual moral conduct. Nevertheless, we are confronted with a methodological difficulty: While we can certainly amass considerable evidence showing how Ming and Qing merchants put ethical teachings into practice, how much representativeness can such moral praxis claim in the world of quotidian existence? As far as I can tell from my knowledge of relevant Ming and Qing historical materials, there is no way to settle such an issue through a quantitative approach. Nevertheless, we should keep in mind: this methodological difficulty is a common one in historical studies and applies likewise to Weber’s study of the Protestant ethic. We can only say that this problem relates to the historian’s total judgment of the studied historical world. If we admit that certain ethical concepts played a role in sustaining a particular order in the Ming and Qing commercial world, we should then give serious attention to the mercantile ethic that the documents of the periods ascribe to such an order. After all, there has never existed complete accord between words and actions in any society or era. We

can also posit that situations in which words and actions are antithetical to each other are certainly symptoms of a social order on the verge of, or in the process of, disintegration. In contrast, the same logic would suggest that the ascent and growth of the merchant class in Chinese society between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries indicates that the commercial ethic current at the time did indeed serve to discipline the conduct of the merchant body at large. Admittedly, there were of course cases of fraud, such as those recorded in the Dupian xinshu ᶌ偉 ᯠᴨ (A new collection of swindling cases) published at the end of the Ming dynasty; nevertheless, these negative cases do not suffice to negate the existence of a commercial ethic.1 After all, would anyone claim that every European and English merchant of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries acted in accord with the Protestant ethic without committing a single act of dishonesty? Extending this point to our contemporary situation, someone simply pointing to the occurrence of economic crimes would not be adequate to compel us to deny that the economic world still operates under the overall influence of certain ethical norms in our society. In fact, “swindling” and “crime” are concepts that can be meaningful only in relation to specific commonly recognized “norms.” Therefore I shall merely depict Chinese merchants in their historical situations as objectively as possible. It is not my intention to beautify them or to claim that every one of them abided by the standards of commercial morality. I hope this clarification will help my readers avoid potential misunderstanding. In discussing the contribution of the Protestant ethic to the development of capitalism, Weber highlights the two principal factors of industry and frugality. Interestingly, these were also among the most ancient precepts in the Chinese cultural tradition. The saying, “Be industrious in conducting state affairs and frugal in conducting family matters,” can be found as early as in the “Da Yu mo” བྷ⿩䅘 (Plan of the Great Yu) chapter in the forged ancient-script text of the Shangshu (Book of History), so its origins date back only around two thousand years. Li Shangyin’s ᵾ୶䳡 (ca. 812–858) poem “Du shi” 䆰ਢ (On reading history) likewise states, “Reviewing all former worthies, states and families / Success comes from industry and frugality, ruin from extravagance.” Nonetheless, we should acknowledge that the doctrine of “industry and frugality” did penetrate more deeply and pervasively into people’s daily The Mercantile Ethic • 169

lives after the inner-worldly reorientation of Chinese religions. Indeed, Chinese people’s convictions regarding the value of industry and frugality certainly deepened with Chan Buddhists’ “no work, no food,” new religious Daoists’ “engagement in dusty labor,” and new Confucians’ “human existence lies in industry” and “one cannot be slothful.” By Ming and Qing times, such habits of industry and frugality became distinctly expressed in merchant conduct. The general ethos of the two great merchant groups of Shanxi and Huizhou (Xin’an) serve to illuminate the issue. In this regard, Xie Zhaozhe 䅍㚷␋ (1567–1624) provided a pertinent statement: Regarding the wealthiest among the wealthy, it is Xin’an that stands supreme south of the Yangzi River and Shanxi north of the Yangzi River. The great merchants of Xin’an are engaged in the fish and salt businesses; there are those with assets that exceed a million cash, while those with two or three hundred thousand cash are merely middle-level merchants. The merchants of Shanxi are engaged in the salt business, grain storage, or the reselling of various commodities purchased from other places. Their wealth even surpasses that of the Xin’an merchants, for while the Xin’an merchants are extravagant, the Shanxi merchants are frugal. Yet the Xin’an people are very thrifty in their daily lives as well; they can heartily enjoy a full meal with only thin porridge and salted vegetables. It is only in wedding concubines, lodging with courtesans, or pursuing litigations that they spend money like water.2

While at first glance this passage seems to contrast the “frugality” of Shanxi merchants to the “extravagance” of Huizhou merchants, Xie immediately went on to qualify his statement by admitting that the Xin’an merchants were not blindly extravagant and treated themselves thriftily as well. Now to be sure, we can also find other accounts that echo the view about the “extravagance of the Xin’an merchants”; for instance, Wang Daokun wrote during the late sixteenth century: “Xin’an abounds with great merchants, among whom those in the salt business are the most extravagant. When they enter their mansions, bells are struck; when they leave home, they are on horseback. In their leisure time, they would summon guests for a grand gathering, attended 170 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

by maidens of Yue and embracing courtesans of Wu. Guests seated on four sides of the hall would all thoroughly enjoy themselves from day to night.”3 Coming from a native of Xin’an, this testimony certainly goes far prima facie to substantiate what Xie Zhaozhe stated above. Nevertheless, behind the superficial facts lay complicated background factors that need to be properly understood. For example, as far as the salt business in Yangzhou during the Ming dynasty is concerned, Shanxi merchants enjoyed a better relationship with the government than Xin’an merchants did and consequently a comfortable competitive edge over the latter. Thus the Liang Huai yanfa zhi ‫␞ޙ‬咭⌅ᘇ (Treatise on the salt regulations in the Huai River area), compiled during the Jiaqing reign (1796–1820), noted: During the Wanli reign (1573–1620) of the Ming dynasty, student quotas were established for salt merchants. However, there was no separate government schools serving the area north and south of the Huai River, so their students were attached to the prefectural school at Yangzhou. Therefore their specific status as sons of salt merchants was not duly recorded in government registers for the salt administration. As a result, student quotas for salt merchants of Shanxi can all be found in these registers, but not those of Huizhou.4

It must be noted that student quotas for salt merchants were created specifically to provide special rights for their sons to sit for the civil service examinations. This stipulation enabled them to become candidates for the shengyuan ⭏଑ (government student) or xiucai ⿰᡽ (cultivated talent) qualifying examination in areas where their parents or guardians were engaged in commerce rather than in their native places. Yet the fact that during the Ming dynasty student quotas were provided fully for Shanxi merchants but not for their Huizhou counterparts in the Huai River area furnishes clear evidence of the government’s bias in favor of Shanxi vis-à-vis Huizhou merchants.5 Indeed, even into the early years of the Qing dynasty, the political advantages enjoyed by Shanxi merchants remained firmly entrenched.6 To offset this built-in disadvantage, therefore, it was only natural that Huizhou merchants should strive to win the support of government The Mercantile Ethic • 171

officials through social activities. It is worth noting that the accounts given by Xie Zhaozhe and Wang Daokun in connection with the “extravagance” of the great Xin’an merchants seem to point to efforts directed at the improvement of “public relations”: “wedding concubines” and “lodging with courtesans,” after all, were just the right occasions for “summoning guests for a grand gathering.” Indeed, clear testimony to such “public relations efforts” by Huizhou merchants may be found in Li Mengyang’s proposals dealing with laws about salt, written while he was a bureau director in the Ministry of Revenue. Here Li Mengyang commented on the salt merchants of Yangzhou as follows: “Merchants these days . . . kept singers, dancers, concubines, and other treasures at home in order to buy the favor of those in power; thereby they hope to receive protection and patronage.”7 As for “litigations,” these were undertaken by Huizhou merchants to fight for their legal rights and could not in any way be regarded as “extravagance.”8 Gu Yanwu testified: Xin’an people are the most industrious and frugal people in the country, and so they are the richest as well. . . . The green-robed student-scholars may live leisurely at home, but when they go on their long journey to the capital for the metropolitan examination, they just wear a short, coarse robe that reaches only to the shinbone awn sandals that leave their feet exposed, and carrying an umbrella, they save the expenses of a horse or carriage. Yet one could find out that all of them come from millionaire families. All four categories of people in Huizhou thrive but live simply. They make their reputations by becoming the richest ones in their neighborhoods but are not considered rich unless they have assets worth hundreds of thousands or even millions in cash. There are of course reasons why this is so.9

In short, it is still evident that, generally speaking, “industry” and “frugality” characterized Huizhou merchants. “Honesty and trustworthiness” (cheng xin 䃐ؑ) and “no deception” (buqi нⅪ) were also moral qualities of cardinal importance in the mercantile ethic of the Ming and Qing periods. In The Religion of China, Weber especially emphasized the “dishonesty” of Chinese merchants and 172 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

the utter “mutual distrust” that existed among them, which for him offers a sharp contrast to the honesty and mutual trust among Puritans. Nevertheless, Weber was at the same time extremely puzzled by the distinguished reputation of the Chinese “Co-hong” (gong hang ‫ޜ‬㹼) guild merchants who had regular transactions with foreign traders, and he speculated that it might have been because these leading guild merchants enjoyed the entrenched position of having monopolized foreign trade. Furthermore, Weber also made the inference that if the honesty of these Chinese merchants was indeed a sterling one, it was surely the result of edifying influence by foreign culture rather than an indigenous development.10 This assertion certainly leaves much to be desired. While it remains to be empirically established as to whether the ethical standards of Chinese merchants considerably degenerated during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Chinese and Japanese scholars are almost unanimous in affirming the trustworthiness and honesty of Chinese merchants insofar as the situation between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries is concerned. These scholars indeed cite numerous concrete cases in support of their contention, although the limitation of space does not permit me to quote them here.11 While Weber may be exonerated for his inability to handle Chinese historical materials, what remains most bewildering pertains to his blatant emphasis in The Protestant Ethic on the Puritans’ special conception of God, in which, apart from an absolute faith in the Divine, people cannot have complete trust in anyone, not even their most intimate friends.12 That Weber made diametrically opposite explications of the Puritans’ ethical views in his two books surely constitutes a serious problem. Weber’s misunderstanding of Chinese merchants was, I believe, ultimately predicated on his misunderstanding of the Chinese system of values. In Weber’s eyes, Chinese people characteristically lack an “inward core,” that is, a “central and autonomous value position”; in other words, he perceives Chinese as having no faith at all in a transcendent religious morality. Let me now just cite a few examples to illustrate the actual nature of Confucian values. We know that “honesty/ sincerity” (cheng 䃐) and “no deception”—two sides of the same coin— occupied an especially pivotal position in the ethic of new Confucianism; yet these two values served as the cornerstone of Confucian morality even before the full flourishing of new Confucianism. Thus The Mercantile Ethic • 173

Fan Zhongyan thought that “only the motto ‘no deception’ should be practiced all one’s life.” 13 Moreover, after five years with Sima Guang, Liu Qizhi ࢹಘѻ (Liu Anshi ࢹᆹц, 1048–1125) learned only the single word “cheng.” Sima Guang certainly explained insights gained from prolonged and intensive study of the Doctrine of the Mean, which declared, “Sincerity/honesty is the Way of Heaven, and desiring sincerity/honesty is the way of man; when one attains sincerity, the two ways are but one.” The path to “sincerity/honesty” necessarily begins with “not speaking to other people imprudently,” that is, “no deception,” and only after prolonged cultivation can one achieve “unity between one’s words and deeds, mutual correspondence between the internal and the external, and an unperturbed openness and freedom in conducting matters.” 14 Above all, in reaching upward to the “Way of Heaven,” “honesty/sincerity” and “no deception” provide the morality of this world with a religious and transcendent basis. Through a long period of explication and promotion by new Confucians and proponents of popular religions, such concepts imprinted deeply into the minds of merchants by Ming and Qing times. A case in point is confident declaration of the merchant Fan Xian ›⨮ (1453– 1535): “Who says the Way of Heaven is hard to believe! South to the Huai and Yangzi Rivers, and north until the frontier areas, I alone have never suffered the misfortune of encountering bandits. Surely, Heaven witnesses that I do not swindle! In making transactions, others are determined to swindle, while I am determined not to swindle; and so every day I gain more as they lose more. Who says the Way of Heaven is hard to believe!” 15 It is evident this Shaanxi merchant held an unshakable conviction in the “honesty [moral efficacy] of Heaven.” Earlier, I quoted from Li Mengyang’s epitaph for Wang Xian the exhortatory message that the Shanxi merchant delivered to his sons: “Thus profit is regulated by righteousness, while fame is cultivated by purity of mind; each abides by chosen vocation. If this be so even under Heaven’s scrutiny, descendants are certainly bound to flourish, while the self will be peaceful and the family affluent.” Let us now further quote the words of Wang Xian’s father as given in that epitaph. As someone who always treated people with honesty and righteousness, Wang Xian managed on one occasion to escape from bandits. Hearing about this, his father exclaimed in great amazement, 174 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

“Xian, one who remains righteous in earning profits! Heaven certainly scrutinizes things!” 16 It seems reasonable to believe that the faith in “Heaven,” which Wang Xian’s father displayed, largely derived from Confucianism, because he was a poor scholar who once worked as an instructor in a district Confucian school. Wang Xian’s reference to “Heaven’s scrutiny” may be similarly located, for he was also one who, according to the epitaph, “gave up his scholarly career and became a merchant.” In fact, Ming and Qing merchants not only believed in “Heaven” but also in “Principle.” One relevant example is Hu Renzhi 㜑ӱѻ, a merchant who came from the western part of She district in Anhui. “Earnestly exhorting his descendants, Juping ትᒣ [Hu Renzhi] said to them: ‘All my life I have only believed in Heaven’s principles; the constant ways of kings and the boundless good are all derived from them.’ . . . Thus he named his hall ‘Residing-in-Principle.’ ” 17 Yet another example, found in the Gazetteer of Wuyuan District and compiled in the early years of the Republic, concerns the late Qing merchant Pan Mingduo █匤䩨: He was filial and amiable in nature. While he was studying the Four Books in his childhood years, he always regretted not being able to comprehend them thoroughly. After several days of quiet contemplation, he concluded that the learning of the sages all resides within the single word “principle,” and he suddenly became enlightened. Thenceforth he did not read books that were not related to the learning of the Way. . . . On one occasion, when a certain Mr. Fang could not sell the tea that he had brought with him and wanted to drown himself in the river, Pan bought the tea at market price, stored it away, and sent him home. Subsequently, Pan sold the tea overseas to Westerners and made a profit of fifty thousand taels, which he still turned over to Mr. Fang.18

Pan Mingduo’s honest and faithful conduct should be seen in the context of his conviction about the existence of “principles.” Pan’s example belongs within the late nineteenth century, yet the new Confucian idea of “principle” remained deeply embedded in the minds of the Huizhou merchants. Pan Mingduo’s example also provides additional evidence The Mercantile Ethic • 175

to support the argument (made in the previous section) that merchants greatly appreciated Confucian “recorded conversations.” At the same time, since popular beliefs were an amalgam of the Three Teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and religious Daoism, the concepts of “spirits” and “gods” sometimes served the same purpose as the ideas of “Heaven” or “Principle.” This is well illustrated by the case of Jin Runai 䠁⊍啀 (courtesy name Guantao 㿰☔, 1596–1645), a native of the Dongting hills in Jiangsu. According to his epitaph, Jin’s son described his father’s character as follows: For thirty years, my father was in the service of Mr. Xi. . . . Long had Mr. Xi ceased to question him about income and expenditure accounts, and yet not once did he embezzle an undeserved penny. Some of those close to my father said a little mockingly to him, “Even if you have no wish to line your own pockets, do you not think for your descendants?” My father replied with a rebuke, “If others place complete trust in me and I do injustice to them, how shall I face the spirits and gods?” . . . On one occasion, there was a person who had deposited a certain amount of silver with my father but died while he was away from home. He had no son, and my father sought out his son-in-law to return the money to him. The family members of the son-in-law were greatly surprised, for they were not aware that the deceased had money deposited with my father. Thus people in the hills all reverenced my father as a venerable elder.19

Such instances of faithfulness and honesty are far too numerous in the gazetteers and collected literary writings to be cited in full. I shall just cull a few examples from Wang Daokun’s Taihan ji in the late Ming to elucidate the relationship that existed between merchants and the Buddhist and Daoist religions. Wang Daokun related how the salt merchant Fang Bin ᯩᖜ (courtesy name Yizhi ᇌѻ) gained a righteous reputation by keeping his word and in his later years became an adherent of religious Daoism: In his later years, he took to Huang-Lao Daoism, and built a dwelling at the foot of the Seven Jewels Peak, finding his company in a

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pair of cranes and the Daoists. A guest thus mocked him, “You, hermit, are so powerful as a merchant; why do you associate with these occultists?” However, the hermit smilingly replied: “I have wallowed in the dusty world for tiny profits, but ultimately, I do not want to spend my old age in the market; indeed, it is my wish to fulfill my unrealized vocation in the profound unity [Laozi, chap. 56]. It is enough for me to have had the fortune of shaking the dirt off me, like a cicada sloughing its skin; there is no need to steal the secrets of the mortar and try to ascend to immortality.” For a man from a literati background in the beginning to slight himself and turn to trade—is this not a heroic act! Then in due course, he accumulated uncountable riches through righteous conduct and may well be considered a knight-errant with integrity. Eventually he became a hermit, wandering beyond the realm and returning to preserve the truthfulness in himself. No one who is not spiritually accomplished can reach this point.20

This account also reflects points of our earlier discussion of new religious Daoism: immortals descending to the terrestrial world, going through a period of trial, and accomplishing their vocation in the human realm before finally “returning to their proper place” and “attaining proper karmic fruit.” Wang Daokun also recounts the story of a sixteenth-century businessman Wang Tongbao ⊚䙊‫؍‬, an honest merchant who had great success with his business in Shanghai and was a man of integrity known for his “enthusiasm for humane and righteous deeds.” One passage in his biography relates: Once . . . the hermit dreamt that three “feathered officials” (i.e., Daoist immortals) were approaching his dwelling; and the next day, he received a painting that tallied with the dream. He therefore regarded it as a god and paid obeisance to it reverentially. . . . Later, he was poisoned by someone, but he found the antidote in time and therefore escaped the disaster. . . . On another occasion when he traveled beyond Danyang, a coachman plotted to cheat him so that he would lose his way. However, he encountered an old man in time and so became aware of the coachman’s scheme.

The Mercantile Ethic • 177

Considering that it was only due to the help of the gods that he had the luck to preserve his remaining years, he therefore built the Sanyuan Temple on Lion Hill, spending no less than a few thousand cash in gold on the project.21

It is obvious that Wang Tongbao firmly believed it was the “gods’ assistance” that had enabled him to escape from harm and evil everywhere. Another example in much the same vein is Wang Daokun’s biography of a renowned merchant Ruan Bi 䱞ᕬ (courtesy name Changgong 䮧‫ޜ‬, mid-sixteenth century). Ruan was “respected by other merchants for keeping his promises; he commanded trust even without making pledges, and his word was truly marketable. Other merchants revered him like Ji Hedong ᆓ⋣ᶡ [i.e., Ji Bu ᆓᐳ, a general of the early Han dynasty known for keeping promises].” Let us now see what Wang’s biography said of Ruan Bi: In his late years, he revered Buddhism and Daoism and planted various kinds of good seeds. Once . . . he contributed to the repair of the Temple of the Three Maoshan Immortals, as well as to the redecoration of the idols of the various gods. He took pleasure in beneficence without seeking blessings for himself, and the sum he expended in this connection was beyond enumeration. . . . Quietly, Changgong did many good deeds, bestowing benefactions in ways that do not place others under any obligation and acting out his good intentions for others without their knowing it. . . . A woman of his clan once saved up several dozen strings of cash and secretly entrusted them with Changgong so that she might earn some interest on it. A short while later the woman died. Changgong then returned her money together with the interest gained to her son, who, not knowing where it came from, adamantly refused to accept it. Changgong then explained the matter to him, and the son, bowing his head, agreed to receive it.22

It is significant that in the final analysis, Wang Daokun employed the concept of “Heaven’s retribution” to explain Ruan Bi’s success: “The thing is, while people did injustice to Changgong’s father, Heaven compensated him with Changgong; and while people did injustice to 178 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

Changgong, Heaven compensated him with prosperity.” In sum, we can thus see that Wang Daokun himself also subscribed to the popular concept of “Heaven” as amalgamated from elements of the Three Teachings. A similar belief in Heaven’s intervention is reflected in the following story, recorded by Gui Zhuang of the early Qing: In the spring of the year Dingwei [1667], there was a great fire in Hangzhou that destroyed more than seventeen thousand homes. Nevertheless, one house stood singularly unscathed amid the surrounding ashes on all four sides. Upon enquiry about the owner of the house, people found that he was a vendor of oil in his previous incarnation. Using only one steelyard [i.e., not having another weighing measure to defraud], he never cheated even a child only three feet tall. I concede that this instance may be of little significance in itself; however, to judge from just this single matter, the man must have been honest in everything throughout his life. While in the last years [of the Ming] all kinds of deceit and hypocrisy came into full play, we still have such an honest and sincere gentleman (junzi ੋᆀ). Apt it is indeed that he should enjoy the protection of Heaven!23

By “deceit and hypocrisy in the last years [of the Ming],” Gui Zhuang was not so much addressing himself to the merchants as implicitly pointing to the professed “gentlemen” among contemporary scholarofficials, who easily switch their loyalty to the Qing. What is noteworthy here, however, is that he seemed to have genuinely accepted the popular belief that truthfulness and honesty would “lead to protection by Heaven.” This diffuse belief in Heaven should come as no surprise. Ever since Southern Song times, popular morality tracts like the Taishang ganying pian ཚкᝏ៹ㇷ had also been exerting a profound influence on the scholar class. Zhen Dexiu ⵏᗧ⿰ (1178–1235) of the Southern Song as well as Li Zhi ᵾ䌴 (1527–1602), Jiao Hong ❖㄁ (1540–1620), and Tu Long ነ䲶 (1543–1605) of the Ming were among those who praised this treatise at one time or another. Hui Dong ᜐἏ (1697–1758), one of the great Qing masters of the Confucian classics, even wrote annotations The Mercantile Ethic • 179

on the text. Moreover, Zhu Gui ᵡ⨚ (1731–1807), who wrote the preface to Hui Dong’s annotated edition, declared: “I remember when my brother and I were young, our late father taught us to recite this book every day. . . . That we have remained honest and well disciplined, never daring to indulge ourselves in improprieties, is attributable to this treatise.” Similarly, in the Bingta menghen lu ⯵ΎདྷⰅ䤴 (Record of dream traces in the sickbed], Wang Huizu ⊚䕍⾆ (1731–1807) wrote: “Inspecting a small suitcase left behind by my late father, I acquired an annotated edition of the Taishang ganying pian and found it awe-inspiring. Henceforth, when I rise in the morning, I never once failed to recite it solemnly. That all my life I have not dared to indulge in improprieties is indeed attributable to it.”24 Later in the book, he further recorded: To execute the unfulfilled wish of my late father, I went to the Yunqi 䴢ἢ Temple [in Hangzhou] to build an altar where rites can be performed to save the souls of the dead. I had always been ignorant of Buddhist sutras, and upon reading Great Master Lianchi’s 㬞⊐ (i.e., Zhu Hong ⾙ᆿ, 1535–1615) Yunqi fahui 䴢ἢ⌅ᴳ (Collection of the Dharma writings of Master Yunqi) and Zhuchuang suibi ㄩデ䳘ㅶ (Casual notes from a bamboo window), I discovered that in every matter he worked on the fundamentals. Consequently, I came to know that there are no disloyal or unfilial immortals in the world; those who became Buddhas or patriarchs were never men beyond the pale of human ethics. In fact, the truths of Buddhism and Daoism and the principles of Confucianism are like different rooms opening onto the same hall.25

Hence both Zhu Gui and Wang Huizu admitted that they credited the Taishang ganying pian for their “not daring to indulge in improprieties”; moreover, Wang even went further to accept the Three Teachings as “different rooms opening onto the same hall.” It is evident that popular beliefs were not confined to people of the lower social strata but represented a constituting part of the scholarofficials’ elite culture as well. The boundary between the so-called elite culture and popular culture is an extremely difficult one to draw, for the two are not clearly distinct in the Chinese cultural tradition. Thus while the scholar-officials certainly had their own “elite culture,” they 180 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

were at the same time steeped in “popular culture” as well. This situation was not unique to China; for instance, between about 1500 and 1800 in Europe, aristocrats and monks were wont to participate in many activities designated as belonging to “popular culture.” Based on the quoted statements by Zhu Gui and Wang Huizu, we can say that such concepts as Heaven and earth, spirits, gods, and retribution did indeed constitute a “second culture” of the elite.26 Furthermore, since such popular concepts managed to exert a disciplining influence on the scholar-official elite, one can easily imagine their impact on merchants. In short, to regard Chinese merchants as a herd of “worldly creatures,” absolutely unrestrained by religious and moral notions, who only knew how to “strive obsessively after profit” is a position that cannot stand up to the challenge of the numerous documents from the historical period under discussion.

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[ 12 ] “ T HE W AY

A

OF

B USINESS ”

lready in the Ming dynasty, merchants were using the term “the Way of business” (gu dao 䋸䚃) in ways that seem to indicate that they had developed a new perspective on commerce above and beyond the earning of profits. “The Way of business,” however, also entails a more technical level of meaning, namely, how to employ the most effective methods to achieve the business objective. This is equivalent to what Weber has called “the process of rationalization,” in which the concept of “a calling” in the Puritan ethic is deemed to be of special importance. Western capitalists strove for profits with their hearts and souls, but because profit-making was not something pursued for the sake of material enjoyment, they remained [until the late nineteenth century] thrifty regarding themselves. According to Weber’s explanation, the religious motivation of these capitalists lay in their perception that successful management of businesses was a means of proving their virtue and proficiency in undertaking the calling to which they had responded.1 In addition, there were of course more terrestrial motives involved, such as the power and recognition concomitant to wealth, as well as the spiritual satisfaction derived from the awareness that one had provided employment opportunities for a large number of people and fostered the economic prosperity of one’s native place.2

The question now before us is, what were the motivations behind the industry and frugality of Ming and Qing Chinese merchants that brought them wealth and fame? As far as worldly motives are concerned, Chinese and Western merchants were probably not significantly different from each other; for instance, even the Chinese concept of “providing for one’s sons and descendants” is not an alien one in the West. What deserves more attention is the transcendent motivation involved. Ming and Qing merchants certainly did not harbor any concept of “calling,” which was unique to the Puritan merchants of the West; still less did they have any idea of “predestination.” Nevertheless, there were those among them who veritably manifested a transcendent spirit and seemed to have been firmly convinced of the solemn significance and objective value of their vocation. We recall the bold words of the fifteenth-century Shanxi merchant Xi Ming, already cited: “Even if a man is unable to establish a meritorious name in the world, how can he not build an enterprise for his family!” Behind these valiant words, one may perceive the inner sense of pride with which the merchant faced the commercial world he was about to enter. If the vocation of the scholar lay in the state and in “establishing a meritorious name in the world,” the enterprise of the merchant lay in the family, which could also be passed along for a long time. The Xin’an Xiuning mingzu zhi ᯠᆹՁሗ਽᯿ᘇ (Gazetteer of the prominent clans in the Xin’an and Xiuning region), compiled during the final years of the Ming, gives the story of the merchant Cheng Zhou 〻ઘ: “He traded and lived in the district town of Wuning in Jiangxi. . . . Thus he grew rich and became engaged in pawnbroking in Jianchang and the salt business in Nanchang. He founded an enterprise and handed down a legacy, filling the whole family with harmony and happiness.”3 The expression chuangye chuitong ࢥᾝ඲㎡, which we have translated in this context as “founded an enterprise and handed down a legacy,” is not something to take lightly. Having always been a phrase monopolistically reserved for dynasty-founding kings and emperors, it now also described the enterprise of a merchant. We should not overlook the change in social psychology reflected in this new usage of the phrase. Wang Daokun’s biography of the merchant Ruan Changgong similarly attests: “The Way of Business” •

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At first, Changgong intended to take She as his “Tuqiu” and Wuhu as his “Fengpei.” Subsequently, his enterprise thrived extremely well; with his family, subordinates, and assets all in and around the city of Wuhu, he built a hundred houses for his employees to rent. . . . His domestic and outside servants and slaves each approached a hundred; and in his deployment of them, he met every bit the standards of accountability according to the normal regulations.4

“Tuqiu” 㨏㼈, referring to a place of retirement for the aged, is an allusion from the Zuozhuan ᐖۣ (Zuo’s commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals): “Let me trade at Tuqiu, for I am growing old” (Duke Yin, eleventh year). “Fengpei” 䊀⋋, on the one hand, was the base from where Emperor Gaozu of the Han dynasty “founded his enterprise [kingdom] and handed down a legacy,” the phrase borrowed here to describe Ruan’s commercial base. These examples show that it was already quite common by the sixteenth century to compare a merchant’s entrepreneurial management to the founding of a kingdom. On the other hand, of course, the term “Fengpei” is not a casually borrowed one, for we can easily perceive from the passage the extensive scale and tight organization of Ruan’s commercial enterprise; thus what Westerners today would call a “business empire” is a concept that emerged in China at an early date. Meanwhile, the standing of merchants also developed the respect given to their vocation. Another instance recorded in the Xin’an Xiuning mingzu zhi testifies: Huang Qiu’s 哳⨳ courtesy name was Hechuan ઼ᐍ. Nurturing lofty aspirations since his youth, he traveled extensively among the rivers and lakes, enhancing his assets day by day. He married the daughter of the gentleman named Jin Hong of the northern part of town. Youthful, complete in her virtues, she was hard working, frugal, and assisted him in places where he was inadequate. He conducted his business in the Chiyang district, and his family fortune expanded tremendously.5

Here again, the description “nurturing lofty aspirations since his youth,” a phrase traditionally reserved exclusively for scholars, was now applied to merchants. 184 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

Moreover, the precise implications of the phrase “lofty aspirations” is readily evident from a statement by the Huizhou merchant Xu Zhi 䁡〙 (1494–1554): “Although I am only a merchant, do I not cherish the aspirations of Duanmu ㄟᵘ, who, wherever he went, stood up to the king as an equal?” 6 As a merchant thoroughly familiar with the “Biographies of the Money-Makers” in the Shiji, Xu Zhi thus yearned for [Confucius’s disciple and famous merchant] Zigong’s ᆀ䋒 aura of “traveling in a carriage drawn by four horses, with an escort of riders bearing rolls of silk to present to the rulers of states.” Moreover, Xu displayed a state of mind in complete agreement with those merchants who were eager to “found an enterprise and hand down a legacy.” If we assemble and coordinate all the pieces of evidence considered thus far, they indicate great historical significance; moreover, we might well consider them an expression of the mentality that “a fine merchant is not less worthy than a great Confucian scholar!” Indeed, Wang Daokun recorded in his biography of Pan Tingzhou █≰⍢: “When Pan Tingzhou grew old, he advised his sons to be fine merchants and his grandsons to be great scholars.”7 It is obvious that in Pan’s scale of values, any difference that might have existed between “fine merchants” and “great Confucian scholars” was only an infinitesimal one. Merchants of the time were not the only ones who thought this way; even scholar-officials held much the same view. As Wang Daokun also wrote in his biography of another merchant, “Sima Qian said that Confucians took poetry and history as their fundamental preoccupation and always looked down on commerce as something despicable. However, if those engaged in trade still preserve their humaneness and righteousness, in what way are they unworthy?”8 “To be engaged in trade and still preserve humaneness and righteousness” represented a development of the thinking reflected in the “Biographies of the MoneyMakers” in the Shiji. Likewise, in his tomb inscription for a son of a wealthy merchant from the Dongting Mountains in Jiangsu who was a former student at the National University, Qian Qianyi 䥒䅉⳺ (1582– 1664) also cited and extended the meaning of Sima Qian’s words. Moreover, he made the following interesting remark: “That humaneness and righteousness will come with a man’s riches is the constant of the way of the world.” 9 Remarkably enough, Wu Weiye also quoted the same statement in his epitaph for another former student of the National “The Way of Business” •

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University.10 This statement, in fact, had much in common with Wang Yangming’s, “not even engagement in trade all day long will stand in one’s way of becoming a sage or worthy,” or Shen Yao’s, “they are merchants by profession and heroes in character.” Furthermore, going even beyond such affirmative comments, Wang Daokun even argued in a tomb inscription praising the policies of a commissioner of the Bureau of Forestry and Crafts: I have heard that the former kings nurtured the roots and restrained the branches and thus made agricultural taxes light and commercial taxes heavy. I do not believe this is correct; the occupations should be regarded equitably and treated in the same way. After all, the practice of selling things during the day began with [legendary sage hero] Shennong; then commerce flourished side by side with agriculture, both being equally important. . . . In what way are merchants not as worthy as farmers?11

Here Wang Daokun affirmed unequivocally the opinion that merchants are not less worthy than either Confucian scholars or farmers, because what they engaged in is also a proper “fundamental undertaking.” His argument, in fact, not only came far earlier in date but was also more elaborate and thorough than Huang Zongxi’s remark, “Crafts and commerce also constitute the fundamentals [of society].” 12 In this connection, Wang’s advocacy for light commercial taxes was also very popular in the sixteenth century. Thus, for instance, both Zhang Juzheng and Zhang Han shared this same opinion, and the latter even managed to implement a light-tax commercial policy when he supervised customs affairs in Nanjing.13 With merchants and scholar-officials taking this affirmative view, commerce had come to acquire a solemn and scared significance. Wang Yangming had said, “The four categories of people are involved in different occupations but follow the same Way”; thus merchants now really did realize their “Way of business,” which Sima Qian had proclaimed during the Han dynasty. Consequently, regarding their “name” (or reputation) and “virtue” with grave seriousness, merchants had also come to develop a heightened consciousness of self-respect and esteem

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for their occupation. One example may be found in Gui Youguang’s composition celebrating Sun Dongzhuang’s ᆛᶡ㦺 seventieth birthday: The Kunshan district is geographically situated close to the sea, but from time to time, people would arise there rich enough to rival enfeoffed lords. One worthy example in recent years is Mr. Sun. . . . Since the time of his ancestors,. . . the Sun family has been sincere and honest, which is how they managed to become rich. These virtues have found yet higher expression in Mr. Sun, whose enterprise has therefore grown accordingly. Yet Mr.  Sun remains faithful and trustworthy like a poor scholar, and his townsfolk all enjoy his acquaintance. Moreover, those who apply to him for help in situations of emergency frequently receive relief and assistance. Hence, on his seventieth birthday, the neighbors who have come to celebrate the occasion are all worthy men and scholar-officials. My friend Qin Qiren, who is related to Mr. Sun through marriage, told me that Mr.  Sun is not only affluent but superior in virtue as well.14

Tacitly following Sima Qian’s assertion in his “Biographies of the MoneyMakers” that “when a superior man is rich, he delights in putting his virtue into operation,” Gui Youguang here used the word “virtue” to extol the rich merchant in this extraordinarily elevated tribute. In addition to the flourishing culture of Kunshan, the fact that “worthy men and scholar-officials” were all willing to celebrate the birthday of a merchant suffices to indicate the prominence of his virtuous reputation. Likewise, the merchants themselves also attached great importance to their “name” or reputation that evidenced “virtue.” For instance, Wang Daokun related how the “zhangji” ᦼ䀸 (accounting officer, similar to a “manager”) of the great salt merchant Wu Shiying used Wu’s name alone (without collateral) to borrow sixteen thousand strings of cash from other merchants and was eventually unable to repay the loan. Someone suggested to Wu Shiying: “It is the borrower’s (i.e., the accounting officer’s) responsibility to repay his own debt; what have you got to do with it?” Wu, however, replied: “These elderly gentlemen held bills in hand worth over ten thousand in cash, and yet they made a loan

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to someone they didn’t really know. Do you understand why? Because people trust my name. Now someone close to me thus capitalized on it, and if I take advantage of the situation to wash my hands of the matter, the wrong lies with me. That would mean betraying one’s virtue; and betraying one’s virtue is not something auspicious.” 15 As might be readily expected from this statement, Wu Shiying ultimately honored the debt himself. The example proves beyond doubt just how high a value and importance the merchants attached to their “virtue” and “name.” Moreover, such an attitude was true not only of great merchants but also of merchants in general. Thus in 1813 Yao Nai described the state of the Hunan merchant Zhao Zonghai’s 䏉ᇇ⎧ family after his death: Earlier on, he had been entrusted with a sum of several thousand in gold. Upon his death, his family was in considerable difficulty trying to find money for repayment. Someone suggested the idea of using bereavement as an excuse for avoiding payment. However, Taigongren ཚ᚝Ӫ [Venerable “Respectful Lady,” honorific title granted to the wife of Zhao Zonghai] said: “My late husband was known for trustworthiness and righteousness, which was why people entrusted their money with him. Now if I do not pay it back, I shall acquire a bad name for him.” Therefore she readily surrendered her assets and sold clothes and articles in the house to repay the debt in full.16

Furthermore, this mercantile ethic extended also to the “partnerassistants” (huoji Չ䀸 or ཕ䀸), who had first to establish a good name for themselves before they could have any hopeful future. Thus, for instance, Shen Xiaosi ⊸ᆍᙍ of the Ming era commented: The great merchants of Pingyang, Ze, and Lu excel their counterparts in other regions of the state; those who do not possess assets worth several hundred thousand are not considered rich. This is due to laudable in-house methods adopted in these areas, where people respect one another for honorable conduct and behavior. Those who join partnership in a commercial enterprise owned by another are called “partner-assistants,” the system being that one person provides the capital and several partners manage it

188 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

together. Without the need for any oath of allegiance, no one thinks of embezzling anything. There were cases in which debtors died halfway before they could repay their loans, and their creditors had already dropped the matter for several decades. However, when the debtors’ descendants became aware of it, they toiled doubly hard to repay the loan. And so those with a lot of capital in hand all vie with one another in enlisting their services as partnerassistants and say that if they did not neglect the dead, they certainly would not betray the living. Consequently, these investors yielded a small sum at the beginning only to gain a huge return afterward. Thus everyone secured a livelihood whether they themselves possess capital or not. At the same time, moreover, wealthy people did not hoard their capital at home but invested it all through the partner-assistant system. Those who wish to assess a person’s assets need only to count how many major and minor partner-assistants he has in order to know whether his assets are worth hundreds of thousands or millions.17

From this example, we can see the strict moral self-discipline of the partner-assistants in Shanxi. The same strict self-discipline can also be found in Xin’an, as corroborated by Gu Yanwu: In Xindu . . . the great merchants all have assets worth several hundred thousand, and each has a few deputies to assist him in various aspects of his business. These deputies do not embezzle a single penny and so enjoy the favor of the great merchants without incurring the slightest suspicion. It is only when there are great profits at the end of a period upon which accounts are balanced that some deputies may feel that they are rich enough to withdraw from the partnership and start their own business. Thus the making of a great merchant is not a matter of single-handed effort.18

These “deputies” ( fushou ࢟᡻) were the equivalent of the “accounting officers” (zhangji ᦼ䀸), already quoted from the Taihan ji, namely, the partner-assistants of Huizhou. As we have seen, they had to be honest to the point of “not embezzling a single penny” before they could gain “The Way of Business” •

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the confidence of the great merchants and in due course launch their own enterprise. It goes beyond saying that the two passages just cited reflect only the general situation of the time; fraudulent practices and embezzlement by individual partner-assistants were ultimately unavoidable, as the case of Wu Shiying’s “accounting officer” readily revealed. As far as the Huizhou merchants were concerned, their “deputies” and “accounting officers” were usually younger members of their own clan. Thus, in a composition celebrating the fiftieth birthday of a Mr. Cheng, Wang Shizhen ⦻ц䋎 (1526–1590) related: There are always several dozen young men [of his clan] at any time receiving commissions from Mr. Cheng, who assesses the undertakings appropriate to each land area and adjusts to fluctuations of supply and demand before unerringly giving instructions to everyone. If the commissioned employee repeatedly meets with ill fortune, Mr. Cheng still treats him with leniency, in order to give him opportunities to exercise his abilities fully. However, when there is a comfortable profit, Mr. Cheng takes only a small portion and returns the lion’s share to the employee concerned. Consequently, people enjoy being employed by Mr.  Cheng. Moreover, since he became a great merchant, no one in his clan has not benefited.19

Similarly, Jin Sheng 䠁㚢 (1598–1645) of Xiuning also wrote in a letter to the district magistrate of She: “The people of the two towns [Xiuning and She district] are engaged in commerce, and they take their relatives and friends along into their enterprises. Hence once a family operates a business, it is not just one household that earns a livelihood. A largescale enterprise can support hundreds or thousands of families, and even a small-scale business can support a few dozen or at least several families.”20 All these various testimonies indicate the contribution of the partner-assistant system to the development of the “Way of business” in the Ming and Qing dynasties. The system was quite common at the time; besides Shanxi and Anhui, it functioned in Jiangsu as well. For instance, Gui Zhuang’s biographies of three chaste women relate the 190 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

story of a partner-assistant called Ye Mao 㩹៻, a native of the Dongting Mountains in Jiangsu: “Any poor person engaged in commerce who receives capital from a rich man and helps him run his business is called a huoji (partner-assistant). Ye Mao was married for only three months when he left home to become the huoji of a rich man of his own clan.”21 This story shows that the partner-assistants in Jiangsu were also mostly poor young relatives or other members within the clan. Because of the special importance of the partner-assistant system to the development of commerce during the Ming and Qing dynasties, it is necessary to highlight briefly several salient characteristics of the system. First, this was a completely new yet widespread system, unprecedented in scale and organization in the history of China, so both the Jin lu and Gui Zhuang found it necessary to provide a definition for “partner-assistants.”22 Second, judging from the quoted materials, as well as from other individual cases, the relationship between great merchants and partner-assistants was without doubt similar to the modern one between employer and employee. The information cited from Gu Yanwu testifies that Xin’an “deputies” could eventually “withdraw from the partnership and start their own business,” which not only agrees with the description about the Shanxi partner-assistants “gaining a huge return afterward” but also is corroborated by many concrete examples in the Taihan ji as well. There were occasional exceptions; for instance, an “accounting officer” who grew too “domineering” and bullied his senile master was eventually “publicly humiliated and beaten in court” by his strong young master.23 Nevertheless, we cannot on that basis infer that the relationship between great merchants and partnerassistants was a “master-slave relationship” or “a form of expression of the feudal land-based relationship transplanted to the realm of commerce.”24 Third, the partner-assistants and accounting officers were generally younger members within the clan, which aptly explains how Ming and Qing merchants made use of the resources of traditional culture, on the one hand, while transforming old clan relationships into new commercial alignments, on the other hand. In fact, this system served as a transitional modus operandi in China’s transformation from tradition to modernity, one that was still adopted by modern-type Chinese capitalists during the closing years of the Qing dynasty and the early years of the Republic. “The Way of Business” •

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After all, did the development of entrepreneurial enterprises require “complete severance from the six relations” [father, mother, elder brothers, younger brothers, wife, and children]? Moreover, in traditional Chinese society, were there any more reliable “assistants” than one’s own relatives and clan members to whom responsibilities could be entrusted? China lacked the religious organizations that played a crucial role in Western society. Moreover, in terms of social function, China’s clan organization corresponded to the organizations of various religious sects in the modern West; for instance, marriage for the Quakers could take place only between members of the sect. Among the achievements ascribed to the Protestant ethic, Weber praised its breaking the fetters of kinship and severing the family entirely from commerce. In contrast, he asserted that the concept of “functional tasks or enterprises” simply did not exist in China, where economic development was crippled by having too much importance attached to “individual” relationships among members of the clan.25 That judgment merely reflects an inadequate knowledge of Chinese history. Contrary to Weber’s speculation, the relationship between great merchants and partner-assistants made giant strides in the direction of functional enterprise during the Ming and Qing dynasties. Otherwise, the partner-assistants of Shanxi, known for their honesty and trustworthiness, would not have become targets, whose service great merchants “vied with one another to enlist.” More fundamentally, however, Weber’s contention that clan and kinsfolk relationships stand in the way of modern enterprises does not stand up to scrutiny, even in itself. For example, according to T. S. Ashton’s study of the iron and steel industry in early eighteenth-century England, the iron industry was almost entirely under the control of the Quakers during that time. Apart from a few who started off as employees, the prominent entrepreneurs in the industry were all related to the Darby family who founded the enterprise, either as sons, sons-in-law, and brothers-in-law or general clan members. Moreover, this was not just an exceptional case, for “the union of business and family relationships” was an extremely normal phenomenon during the early stage of the Industrial Revolution.26 Overall, we should regard the emergence of the partner-assistant system with utmost seriousness, for it is reasonable to consider the partner-assistants as predecessors of the Chinese managerial class. 192 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

The partner-assistant system was something that evolved in response to the needs of the times, for the entrepreneurial enterprises of some great merchants had reached a nationwide scale. For instance, as for the Ruan Changgong who took “Wuhu as his Fengpei,” “his activities covered the areas of Wu, Yue, Jing, Liang, Yan, Yu, Qi, and Lu, where he had set up branch stores at key posts to market his commodities. Changgong himself worked as libationer, promoting and demoting personnel, managing profits here and reducing operations elsewhere; there was nothing that was not done according to his plan.”27 The general scale of Ruan’s business emerges clearly from this sketch. Perhaps even more revealing is the use of the term, “libationer” (jijiu ⾝䞂), whose high degree of currency at the time furnishes yet additional evidence, indicating that merchants appropriated what had hitherto been used exclusively for scholar-officials. Another glimpse at the large-scale commercial activities of the era is provided by Wu Weiye in his epitaph for an official, in which Wu describes the commercial operations of Xi Benzhen ᑝᵜ⾾ (1601–1653), a merchant in the Dongting Mountains in Jiangsu: In managing his business [Xi] made good use of opportune moments, acting on a knowledge of relevant things that encompasses the essentials about various commodities, he decided his commitments after weighing priorities. He shared business upturns and downturns with those who worked for him, and everyone from top to bottom worked in concerted cooperation, each fulfilling his share of responsibility. There were [Xi’s] storehouses sometimes as far as one or two thousand li away, but not once did he have to travel personally. In fact, his commissioned representative only had to submit his heti 䎛䑿 [letter] specifying a certain amount for a transaction, and it would be respectfully honored. Moreover, there was never the slightest error in monthly or annual balance checking.28

The very capability of directing business affairs one or two thousand li away with a mere heti indicates a tightness of commercial organization that is in no way inferior to modern enterprise.29 Moreover, did not “those who worked for [Xi]” perform efficiently in the “functional “The Way of Business” •

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enterprise”? Xi Benzhen’s entrepreneurial management is yet another concrete example showing how a great merchant “could not accomplish everything single-handedly” but had to rely on his team of partner-assistants. Xi Benzhen, we are told, had “studied the Book of Poetry and the Spring and Autumn Annals intensively.” The fact that in his commercial management he could “make good use of opportune moments and act on a knowledge of things” and “decide his commitments after weighing priorities” must be attributed to such Confucian education. Indeed, because most businessmen in the Ming and Qing dynasties were those who “gave up their scholarly careers and became merchants” and typically still continued to study after entering the business world, they were in no way inferior to average “scholars” in knowledge and accomplishments. As has been tentatively substantiated by other research, the merchants’ adeptness at “planning and calculation” and their ability to comprehend the laws of change thoroughly in the different markets were inseparable from their background in Confucian learning.30 More specifically, merchants of the time “regarded the nine chapters (of arithmetic) as (one of) the Six Classics,”31 which indicates the importance they attached to arithmetic. Indeed, the “commercial handbooks” published during the final years of the Ming dynasty often appended sections, such as “Summary of arithmetical methods,” for merchants’ convenient reference. The appearance of many books on commercial arithmetic, such as the Zhiming suanfa ᤷ਽㇇⌅ (Treatise on arithmetic) and the Zhiming suanfa zongtong ᤷ਽㇇⌅ᇇ㎡ (Systematic treatise on arithmetic), was closely related to the flourishing of commerce. At this point, it is pertinent to note that Weber especially highlighted the importance of the application of arithmetic and double bookkeeping to commerce as evidence for “the process of rationalization” in the modern West. While there was admittedly no double-entry bookkeeping in China, the commercial arithmetic of the sixteenth century was sophisticated enough to constitute an equal to its Western counterpart during the same period.32 Turning now to some other evidence that has so far received less scrutiny, I can further elucidate “the process of rationalization” in Chinese commercial management by citing Gu Xiancheng 亗២ᡀ (1550–1612): 194 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

It is because He Xinyin and his ilk anchor themselves in the basin of greed and covetousness that they can manage to incite people. Nevertheless, he does have one kind of intelligence that is beyond the reach of others. Minister of Revenue Geng [Dingxiang 㙯ᇊੁ, 1524–1596] once selected four of his servants, giving each two hundred cash in gold, and told them to use it to make some profit. One of the servants sought advice from He Xinyin, who taught him the tricks of the trade in six words: one bit bought, one bit sold. Another formula in four words was also imparted: buy wholesale, sell retail. The servants followed He Xinyin’s advice, and accumulated profits amounting tens of thousands of cash.33

The historical veracity of the story is not of primary significance; the relevant issue here is the crucial importance of knowledge to commercial management. Another example comes from the Qing archives and relates how Lü Liuliang’s grandchildren were exiled to Ningguta in Central Asia as slaves in the tenth year of the Yongzheng reign (1732). By the fortieth year of the Qianlong reign (1775), his grandchildren had already grown rich through operating a drugstore (Lü Liuliang’s previous occupation) as well as trading in the rice, salt, ginseng, and marten fur businesses; in fact, they even applied for student places-by-purchase at the National University for their sons.34 When this historical account is considered, it provides corroboration of the story about Geng Dingxiang’s servant acting on He Xinyin’s advice. In effect, what He Xinyin’s six-word formula meant is to sell quickly what one has bought, with small unit profits but swift turnovers—a principle equivalent to what Weber called the “principle of low prices and large turnover.”35 “Small unit profit but swift turnover,” indeed, was a cardinal directing principle for Ming and Qing merchants. There are in fact countless concrete examples demonstrating this principle in operation; in what follows, we shall merely select several paradigmatic cases by way of substantiating our observation. In his epitaph for his uncle, Kang Hai recorded the criticism his uncle, Kang Luan ᓧ䪮, had made of a merchant who waited for prices to go up before selling his commodities; moreover, he added his own judgment: “The Way of Business” •

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“He does not understand the Way of business. To wait for a fixed price before selling is the way of the mediocre trader who seeks to avoid loss and can pass a whole year without making a single transaction. Those who do as I do can effect more than ten transactions a year and so can make more than ten times the profit the mediocre merchant can manage.” All the people of Chang’an thus cite Uncle Kang whenever they talked about those who understand the art of business well.36

Here the term “the Way of business” reflects a perspective of “instrumental rationality”; furthermore, the word “well” in the phrase “understand the art of business well” carries the same meaning as in the saying, “a workman who wants to do his work well must first sharpen his tools.” In other words, aiming to make a little less profit in each transaction while conducting more transactions, rather than selling commodities only when prices have climbed high, this “Way of business” is, from one point of view, morally neutral in import. From another viewpoint, however, such a way is also in agreement with standards of morality. As Wei Xi 兿⿗ described Shen Wencai ⭣᮷ᖙ, “Engaged in the salt business, he knew the honest merchant’s art of five-round profits, whereby his family greatly flourished.”37 The term “honest merchant” is taken from the “Biographies of the Money-Makers” in the Shiji: “Three times for the greedy merchant, five times for the honest merchant.” Miyazaki Ichisada, suggesting a new interpretation of this statement, has argued that whereas the “honest merchant” makes five transactions, the “greedy merchant” can make only three.38 If we accept his proposition, the idea of small unit profit but swift turnover had long existed in China, even though it was not until Ming and Qing times that it came to operate fully. What is even more significant is the distinctly moral import inherent in the word “honest,” which, as Jiang Cigong reportedly declared to his sons, is what makes the merchant truly respectable: “If a farmer makes a 10 percent profit and an honest merchant also makes a 10 percent profit, in what way is the merchant inferior to the farmer? The ancients denounced dishonesty, not the merchants themselves.”39 Again, Confucian knowledge and morality united in the person of the “honest merchant.” 196 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

Another example of the relationship of Confucian knowledge and morality in the honest merchant was Jin Runai, who worked as a partner-assistant to his maternal uncle Mr. Xi and enjoyed the latter’s unqualified confidence. Beyond the part quoted in the previous chapter, Wang Wan’s epitaph for Jin Runai (Guantao) continued: Mr. Guantao was adept at managing his business. While other merchants preferred to hold onto market commodities and wait for prices to soar before releasing them, Mr. Guantao always sold them at a lower price, passing on what he had bought in and discharging what he had stored up, his objective being that his commodities should not remain unsold. Consequently, whereas other traders often incurred losses when eventually compelled to sell commodities at low prices, Mr.  Guantao always earned his profit.40

This is a paradigmatic example illustrating commercial success through the method of small unit profit and swift turnover. Another example concerns the book trader Tao Zhengxiang 䲦↓⾕ (1732–1797), for whom Sun Yuanru ᆛ␥ྲ wrote an epitaph: When he traded books with other people, he never became mired in petty calculations of the profit he could make. If he paid ten cash to obtain a book that was worth a hundred cash, he would merely sell it for a little more than ten. For if he obtained it for ten, he could earn a profit when he sold the book. As for books that he had kept for a long time, he would sell them for a higher profit margin. He explained: “I seek profit only to fill my belly. Since I like profit, I shall let the purchasers of my books get their share of profit, too. After all, who doesn’t desire profit as much as I do? If I try to monopolize profit to the point that the goods remain stagnant rather than circulating, it will mean losing the profit altogether.” In this way, Tao made large profits selling books. . . . At that time, a Mr.  Wang sold books and paintings, and a Mr.  Gu sold old china and miscellaneous vessels by the city gates of the capital. Both had the same view as Mr. Tao, and both flourished at the time.41

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The fact that this book trader was able to expound such convincing principles for operating based on “small unit profit and swift turnover” certainly reflected a deeply rationalized Way of business. In addition, the fact that Mr. Wang and Mr. Gu shared the same perspective is especially relevant in showing how widely current the Way of business was in that era. This high degree of rationalization of the Ming and Qing merchants enabled them to transform many traditional cultural resources into methods and measures for the effective management of their business enterprises. Following the previous discussion with respect to how the merchants developed the partner-assistant system based on kinsfolk and clan relationships, consider this example recorded by Qian Yong: To the far west of Gao Bridge in Suzhou lay Sun Chunyang’s ᆛ᱕䲭 shop selling delicacies from South China, well known throughout the empire because the goods sold there were also the same kinds sent to the emperor as tribute. A native of Ningbo, Chunyang sat unsuccessfully as a young man for the prefectural examination sometime during the Wanli reign (1573–1620) of the Ming dynasty. Consequently, he gave up studying for the examinations and instead learned the skills of trade. First, he went to Suzhou and opened a small shop by the northern entrance of today’s Wuqu Square. . . . His store was like the prefectural and district government office, being similarly composed of six chambers: southern and northern delicacies chamber, marine products chamber, salted and cured foods chamber, sauce products chamber, preserved fruits chamber, and joss sticks and candles chamber. Customers would first pay at the cashier counter in return for a receipt and then go to the appropriate chamber to obtain the purchased goods. The head steward would take general charge of the business, computing individual balances every day and an overall balance at the end of the year. It is already some 230 or 240 years from its beginning in the Ming to the present . . . and the strictness of its store-rules, as well as the high quality of its products, remain matchless in the entire prefecture.42

Such logistics of operation are virtually those of a modern Chinese department store. What is most remarkable, however, is that Sun 198 • Part III: The Spiritual Configur ation of Chinese Merchants

Chunyang even appropriated the “six-chambers” system of the prefectural and district magistracies for the management of his delicacies store. This ability, as it were, “to turn old material into things of value,” came of course from his educational background as one who had “given up his scholarly career and become a merchant.” The rationalization of the “Way of business” in the Ming and Qing dynasties also naturally brought along new forms of competition. Xu Zhongyuan 䁡Ԣ‫ݳ‬, writing during the first half of the nineteenth century, included a paragraph on buli ᐳ࡙ (cloth profit): A certain Mr. Wang of Xin’an set up a store called “Yimei” ⳺㖾 in Suzhou and cleverly proceeded to stock up cloth supplies. Workers in the tailoring trade were then secretly informed that those who produced the store’s trademark on every sold bolt of cloth would be given two fen (cents) as an award. Coveting this small profit, the tailors thus unanimously commended Yimei, which caused consumers to vie with one another for its cloth. Calculating based on an annual turnover of around a million bolts, with a unit profit of a hundred wen per bolt, then discounting the twenty thousand taels distributed for submitted trademarks, there would be an additional profit of two hundred thousand strings of cash. In ten years, Mr.  Wang surpassed his fellow merchants in wealth, and his cloth reached every corner of the empire. He then began to pursue an official career and transferred the business to his relative Cheng, who later returned the business to the Wang family. For two hundred years, north and south of the desert, there was nowhere Yimei was not highly regarded.43

Fu Yiling is generally correct in considering this paragraph as reflecting something akin to “free competition” in capitalism.44 The two fen that Yimei Cloth Store gave to those who wove the store’s trademark into its bolts of cloth corresponds to the practice of having a “rebate” in the West—the only difference being that the rebate apparently went to the tailors rather than directly returned to the customers. Such an innovation in advertisement was obviously also a new development in the “Way of business.”

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C ONCLUSION

O

ur investigation in this part of our study into the social status and ideology of merchants between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries has enabled us to perceive the profound changes that had taken place in the social and intellectual history of China during those three hundred years. From the perspective of social history, the “amiable and philanthropic spirit” of the merchants had resulted in their taking over a large proportion of the functions that had previously belonged to “scholar-officials” (such as compiling genealogies and building ancestral temples, academies, monasteries and temples, roads, and bridges). Not surprisingly, the increasing importance of their social role was accordingly reflected in the government’s altered attitude toward them. Indeed, the Qing government not only relaxed its control over merchants but also came to be more respectful to them.1 Hence government notices and official documents mentioned the gentry and the merchants together by the nineteenth century at the latest; in areas where commerce was flourishing, “merchants” sometimes even came to precede the “gentry.” Wanyan Linqing ᆼ乿哏ឦ (1791–1846), for instance, described his actions upon his appointment in 1823 as prefect of Huizhou: “Upon arrival for my office . . . I put up a notice prohibiting soldiers and the people from opening up fields on the

hills and advised the merchants and the gentry to dredge canals and waterways to prevent them from blocking up.”2 Linqing put merchants before the gentry because the merchants of Huizhou were exceptionally wealthy. At the same time, another extremely remarkable social change also registered in the altered attitude the scholar-officials held toward the merchants. After the sixteenth century the literary writings of famous men of letters and scholars were filled with epitaphs, biographies, and birthday prefatory compositions written for merchants. If one compares the literary writings, note-form literary sketches, or other compositions of the Ming and Qing periods with those of the Tang, Song, and Yuan dynasties, one cannot fail to notice the conspicuous differences that occurred with the “commingling of scholars and merchants” over a prolonged period. The many authors quoted in this part of our discussion, from Li Mengyang, Kang Hai, and Wang Daokun to the many writers of the Qing, either came from merchant families or were related by marriage to the merchants or voluntarily associated with them. Consequently, these writers not only recorded merchants’ activities but also intentionally or unwittingly spoke on behalf of merchant interests. This was similar to the fact that during the nineteenth century, many American priests and authors wrote and spoke in defense of capitalism and laissez-faire economics, for they themselves were also descendants, relatives, and friends of the industrial and commercial entrepreneurs.3 From the perspective of intellectual history, too, the new changes registered are also extremely significant. After all, new Confucians’ revised views of the four categories of people, their new arguments regarding moral principles and human desires, as well as their views on the public and the private constituted only a small part of the entire process of transformation. What is most striking was the crystallization of the ideology of the merchants themselves, whose point of view was almost invisible before the Ming dynasty, since pre-Ming sources reflected almost exclusively the perspective of scholar-officials. However, in the writings of the Ming and Qing scholar-officials, the ideology of the merchants emerged distinctly from the extensive quotations of their own statements, which I believe are certain to yield extremely fruitful results—if we collect and analyze such materials systematically and

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comprehensively. What is even more worthy of mention is that because of the “commingling of scholars and merchants,” some scholar-officials (especially those like Wang Daokun) shifted their position to look at the world from the perspective of merchants. In addition, while the “commercial handbooks” of the Ming and Qing periods were compiled for practical purposes, they have also preserved a considerable amount of direct historical materials reflecting the ideology of merchants. Above all, we should pay special attention to the merchants’ social selfconsciousness that the “Way of business” is also part of “the Way.” Like the Way, “although merchants change with the times, they move alternatingly like the four seasons; at times they act and thrive, at times they rest and hide. Their way is in profound unison with the Way of Heaven.” 4 Naturally, therefore, like emperors, they could also “found an enterprise and hand down a legacy.” Granted that the average merchant “labored hard for profit”—even as the average scholar studied for “office and emolument”—there were certainly some within the merchant community who, “nurturing lofty aspirations since youth,” were impelled by a transcendent motivation to “found an enterprise” and regarded their “name,” “virtue,” and “meritorious achievements” with grave seriousness, comparable to that of scholars. In the traditional “three ways to immortality” in the Chinese cultural heritage as conveyed since antiquity, they could at least hope to exercise their talents in the two areas of “establishing merit” and “establishing virtue.” Because the merchants were situated at the confluence between elite culture and popular culture, it is comparatively easy for us to understand from their words and conduct how the teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism exerted their influence, and what kind of impact they had. In present-day China, those who study Chinese intellectual history generally display one of two polarized tendencies, either toward the realm of “pure philosophy” or toward “rebellious religion.” This penchant, intentionally or unintentionally, imposes Western models on the patterns of Chinese history. Between these polar inclinations, there still exists vast and important areas that remain lacunae in Chinese historical studies. Moreover, there is no doubt that the ideology of merchants occupies a pivotal position in this central area. Thought of course does not encompass everything, but at the same time, thinking directs human activity, and merchants cannot be an 202

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exception to this rule. Weber may have overemphasized his thesis on the relationship between the Protestant ethic and the spirit of capitalism; moreover, some of his judgments on Chinese religions even lack support of historical evidence. Nevertheless, the questions he proposed remain extremely meaningful ones. One of the main themes of our discussion is to find out wherein the spiritual resources of Ming and Qing merchants lay. While their success in commercial management was dependent on many objective factors that are the object of enthusiastic discussion by socioeconomic historians, the intent of the present investigation is to take up where such scholars left off, in the hope that different research efforts may complement and consolidate one another. We sought to understand how merchants dexterously made use of certain elements in Chinese cultural traditions to develop their “Way of business.” Overall, they did indeed manage to “weed through the old to bring forth the new.” As the prominent example of the “partnerassistant” system amply demonstrates, we cannot dismiss the new elements of creativity incorporated in merchants’ methods simply because of their continued attachment to certain old forms. On the other hand, we cannot exaggerate the historical role played by Ming and Qing merchants. For although they moved close to the threshold of tradition, they ultimately never managed a breakthrough. What was the chief obstructing force they encountered? Although this question must await additional study for a thorough comprehension, we may raise one point for a brief explanation here. In his study of economic developments in the ancient West, Weber advanced the view that while free commerce could readily develop in “republican city-states,” it was often stifled under the bureaucratic system of absolute monarchy, because the principal objective of the latter is the maintenance of political stability.5 The premise of such an argument is that political structure can sometimes also play a determining role in the economic formation of a society. This view seems capable of partially explaining the predicament of Ming and Qing merchants; indeed, some scholars have already noticed the crippling influence of “monarchical dictatorship” or the “state and bureaucracy” on merchants6 Salt merchants, for instance, certainly did receive the protection of the bureaucratic structure under the autocratic monarchy, but the same structure also constituted the ultimate limit on the merchants’ Conclusion

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development. As is well known, the Ming and Qing differentiated merchants into junior, middle, and great merchants. Once they reached the position of great merchant, they would have to make various kinds of “contributions” to the government every year—not to mention illegal extortion by corrupt officials and minor bureaucrats. It is true that salt merchants showed a strong interest in politics, as clearly evidenced in such activities as acquiring official rank by purchases, establishing friendly ties with ministers and powerful personages, or mixing with men of letters and posing as lovers of culture. Yet these were merely superficial phenomena that we need to look beyond, for in the final analysis, the merchants’ political investments were made for the sake of protecting their commercial interests. In the foregoing discussion, I have already quoted the words of Li Mengyang, according to whom the Yangzhou salt merchants’ “extravagances”— such as keeping singers, dancers, concubines, and rare treasures— were all intended to “buy the favor of those in power, hoping thereby to receive their protection and patronage.” The average middle-rank merchant fared no better, for the government and bureaucracy likewise restricted him. Thus the measure of “licensing merchants to earn profit,” instituted in Gansu during the nineteenth century, was among the policies that did the grossest impairment to the people. Some prefectural and district officials, in fact, even confiscated the working capital of licensed merchants, so that the designated merchants were compelled to flee as fugitives.7 The fate of the junior merchants was equally pathetic. In the Essential Reading for Scholars and Merchants, published during the final years of the Ming dynasty, there is a paragraph in the section on “Maimai jiguan” 䋧䌓₏䰌 (Trading offices), “Be respectful to all officials,” with an explanatory note: Whether senior or junior, an official is an appointed representative of the imperial court and has power to harass people. We cannot be disrespectful and impudent simply because his rank is low. For while he may not be able to bring us honor, it is within his capacity to humiliate us if we provoke him to anger. Moreover, if we are reprimanded or beaten by him, how can we wash away the insult!

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Therefore, whenever we meet an official, we must rise in obeisance and move aside, for to be humble and submissive is veritably the duty of us subjects.8

With the autocratic bureaucratic system constituting all-encompassing nets above and snares below, how, for all their strength, could the merchants break through? A “fine merchant” was certainly not inferior to a “great scholar,” but there was no way in which he could free himself from the bureaucratic system. Since this discussion is a study in intellectual history, it is appropriate to conclude by quoting the statements of a few thinkers in the Qing dynasty. In his “Junxian lun” 䜑㑓䄆 (Discussion on prefectures and districts), Gu Yanwu wrote: “It is natural and normal for everyone in the world to think of his own family and cherish his own children. The emperor may care for his subjects, but he cannot possibly do better than they can for themselves. This has been the case even before the Three Dynasties.” 9 Making much the same point in a more specific context, Dai Zhen expressed the view, “Whatever the government manages is always more soundly managed by agents left to themselves whose specific responsibility it is to work for profit.” 10 Similarly, Shen Yao observed at the end of his biography for the family of a Mr. Xie: Construction work is in principle the responsibility of the authorities, but efforts are hindered because of restrictions imposed by regulations. Since the responsibility does not lie in the hands of the people themselves, it is frequently up to philanthropists to help officials satisfy the wishes of the populace. In later times, indeed, it is generally the case that those entrusted with responsibility are incapable of fulfilling it, while those capable of fulfilling it are often those who have not been entrusted with the responsibility. This is why the wealthy are the resort of the poor, and why the protection of the wealthy was one of the policies, in the Rituals of Zhou, designed to relieve famines.11

What these three thinkers discussed all concern the question of the relative advantages and disadvantages of government control vis-à-vis

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self-management by the people. Although Gu Yanwu’s was a general statement of principle, while Dai Zhen’s and Shen Yao’s remarks were occasioned respectively by a rich merchant’s endowment of school properties and by the repair of a bridge, all three thinkers happened to share the same view. In the context of the historical setting circumscribed by the present study, this convergence of opinion is something that especially calls for serious thought and reflection.

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Notes

EDITORIAL NOTE

1. Chen Ruoshui 䲣ᕡ≤ and Chen Xiyuan 䲣⟉䚐, “Yu Yingshi xiansheng zhuyao zhuzuo mulu” ։㤡ᱲ‫⭏ݸ‬ѫ㾱㪇֌ⴞ䤴 [Bibliography of Professor Ying-shih Yü’s important publications], in Guoshi fuhai kai xinlu: Yu Yingshi jiaoshou rongtui lunwenji ഻ਢ⎞⎧䮻ᯠ䤴˖։㤡ᱲᮉᦸ῞䘰䄆᮷䳶 [National history floating across the sea and opening new records: An anthology dedicated to Professor Yü Ying-shih on his retirement], ed. Zhou Zhiping (Chou Chih-p’ing) ઘ䌚ᒣ and Willard Peterson (Taipei: Lianjing, 2002), 581–92. 2. Chen Xingjian 䓺㹼‫ڕ‬, “Yu Yingshi jiaoshou mulu” ։㤡ᱲᮉᦸⴞ䤴 [Bibliography of Professor Ying-shih Yü’s publications], in Wenhua yu lishi de zhuisuo: Yu Yingshi jiaoshou bazhishouqing lunwenji ᮷ॆ㠷↧ਢⲴ䘭㍒˖։㤡ᱲᮉᦸ‫〙ޛ‬༭ឦ䄆᮷䳶 [Cultural and historical explorations: Essays honoring the eightieth birthday of Professor Ying-shih Yü], ed. Tian Hao ⭠⎙ [Hoyt Cleveland Tillman] (Taipei: Lianjing, 2009), 917–60. 3. Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, “Review Article on Escape from Predicament: NeoConfucianism and China’s Evolving Political Culture,” Philosophy East and West 28, no. 4 (October 1978): 503–9. The core criticism is set forth in the opening paragraph of my editor’s introduction that follows. 4. Huang Jinxing (Huang Chin-shing) 哳䙢㠸, Banshiji de fendou: Wu Huoshi xiansheng koushu zhuanji ॺц㌰Ⲵྞ兕˖੣⚛⥵‫⭏ݸ‬ਓ䘠ۣ䁈 [Half-century of struggle: Mr.  Wu Ho-su’s oral biography] (Taipei: Yunchen, 1992); published in English as Business as a Vocation, trans. Hoyt Cleveland Tillman (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2002).

5. See Tian Hao, “Ruxue lunli he jingshi sixiang: tantao Chen Liang, Chen Huanzhang yu Seze Rongyi de guandian” ݂ᆨٛ⨶઼㏃цᙍᜣ˖᧒䀾䲣Ӟǃ䲣➕ㄐ㠷▰◔῞аⲴ㿰唎 [Confucian ethics and statecraft thought: Probing the ideas of Chen Liang, Chen Huanzhang, and Shibusawa Eiichi], in Tian Hao, Wenhua yu lishi de zhuisuo, 107–33, as well as my article in a trilingual journal published in Tokyo, “Distant Echoes of  Chen Liang’s Statecraft Thought? Chen Huan-chang and Shibusawa Eiichi on Confucian Ethics and Economics,” Studies in Chinese History 18 (2008): 1–26.

EDITOR’S IN TRODUCTION

This introduction is a revised version of Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, “Chinese Responses to Max Weber’s Study of Confucianism and Daoism: Yü Ying-shih as a Significant Example,” Oriens Extremus 56 (2017, published 2020): 73–100. I appreciate that journal’s permission for my use of that article and Yü’s request to utilize it in my introduction to the English version of his book. That article began as a paper presented at the conference “Between Appropriation and Refutation— On the Significance and Reception of Max Weber in China,” organized by the Max Weber Foundation (China Branch Office) and the Institute of Humanities and Social Sciences, Peking University, March 20–21, 2018. In addition to learning from the conference papers and participants, I also benefited from discussions with Huang Chin-shing, Wang Fanshen, and Michael Lackner while I was a visiting researcher at the Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica.

1. Thomas Metzger, Escape from Predicament: New Confucianism and China’s Evolving Political Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 1977), 78; spelling changed to pinyin in quotation. 2. Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, “Review Article on Escape from Predicament: NeoConfucianism and China’s Evolving Political Culture,” Philosophy East and West 28, no. 4 (October 1978): 503–9, esp. 506. 3. Conference Publishing Committee (Ernest Caldwell et  al.) for “Max Weber and China: Culture, Law and Capitalism,” “Editorial,” Max Weber Studies 14, no.  2 (2014): 137–45, esp. 139. 4. Ying-shih Yü (Yu Yingshi), Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen ѝ഻ 䘁цᇇᮉٛ⨶㠷୶Ӫ㋮⾎ [The Religious Ethic and Mercantile Spirit in Early Modern China] (Taipei: Lianjing, 1987). There are several reprintings (with some modifications), especially in Rujia lunli yu shangren jingshen ݂ᇦٛ⨶㠷୶Ӫ㋮⾎ [Confucian ethics and the spirit of merchants], vol. 3 of Yu Yingshi wenji ։㤡ᱲ᮷䳶 [Collected works of Ying-shih Yü] (Guilin: Guangxi shifan daxue, 2004). 5. D. S. Zang, “The West in the East: Max Weber’s Nightmare in ‘Post-modern’ China,” Max Weber Studies 14, no. 1 (2014): 33–53. 6. Cai Bofang (Tsai Po-fang) 㭑ঊᯩ, “The Introduction and Reception of Max Weber’s Sociology in Taiwan and China,” Journal of Sociology 52, no. 1 (2016): 118–33. See also

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7.

8. 9.

10.

the continued focus on Taiwan sociologists in his “Makesi Weibo zai 1980 niandai zhong wenyujing zhong de jishou zhuangkuang: yi quanshixing zhuzuo zuowei jichu de chutan” 俜‫ݻ‬ᙍǃ䷻՟൘1980ᒤԓѝ᮷䃎ຳѝⲴ㒬ਇ⣰⋱˖ԕ䂞䟻ᙗ㪇֌֌⛪ส⼾Ⲵࡍ᧒, paper presented for the conference “Between Appropriation and Refutation— On the Significance and Reception of Max Weber in China,” organized by the Max Weber Foundation (China Branch Office) and the Institute of Humanities and Social Sciences, Peking University, March 20–21, 2018. John  W. Kluge Center at the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/loc/kluge /prize/ Yu.html, accessed April  24, 2018; and https://academicians.sinica.edu.tw /index.php?r=academician-n%2Fshow&id=16, accessed August  23, 2020. See also “Address of Professor Ying-shih Yü on the Occasion of Receiving the John W. Kluge Prize at the Library of Congress,” in his Chinese History and Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016), 1:377–81; and Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, “Introduction,” in Wenhua yu lishi de zhuisuo: Yu Yingshi jiaoshou bazhi shouqing lunwenji ᮷ॆ㠷↧ਢⲴ䘭㍒: ։㤡ᱲᮉᦸ‫〙ޛ‬༭ឦ䄆᮷䳶 [Cultural and historical explorations: Essays honoring the eightieth birthday of Professor Ying-shih Yü], ed. Tian Hao ⭠⎙ [Hoyt Cleveland Tillman] (Taipei: Lianjing, 2009). Quoted in Yü Ying-shih, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen, 28; all quotations, unless otherwise cited, are to Yü’s book and the present translation. For the debate over the suitability of the rubric of “Neo-Confucianism,” see Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, “A New Direction in Confucian Scholarship: Approaches to Examining Differences Between Neo-Confucianism and Tao-hsueh [Daoxue],” Philosophy East and West 42, no. 3 (1992): 455–74; Wm. Theodore de Bary, “The Uses of Neo-Confucianism: A Response to Professor Tillman,” Philosophy East and West 43, no. 3 (1993): 541–55; Tillman, “The Uses of Neo-Confucianism Revisited: A Reply to Professor de Bary,” Philosophy East and West 44, no. 1 (1994): 135–42; and Tian Hao (Tillman), “Zhu Xi yu Daoxue de fazhan zhuanhua” ᵡ⟩㠷䚃ᆨⲴⲬኅ䕹ॆ [Zhu Xi and the developmental transformation of Daoxue], in Songdai xinruxue de jingshen shijie: yi Zhuzixue wei zhongxin ᆻԓᯠ݂ᆨⲴ㋮⾎ц⭼˖ԕᵡᆀᆨ⛪ѝᗳ [The spiritual world of Song-era new Confucianism: Taking Zhu Xi studies as the center], ed. Wu Zhen ੣䴷 (Shanghai: Huadong shifan daxue, 2009), 10–23. See also Tian Hao, “Songdai sixiangshi de zai sikao” ᆻԓᙍᜣਢⲴ޽ᙍ㘳 [Reflecting again on the history of Song thought], Fudan xuebao ᗙᰖᆨ๡, no. 1 (January 2019): 14–22. It is perhaps relevant here to note that Yü’s preface to my Confucian Discourse and Chu Hsi’s Ascendancy (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1992) endorsed my use of the category of the Daoxue (Learning of the Way) “fellowship” to discuss a circle of Song Confucians that was larger than Chan’s but not as wide-ranging or open-ended as de Bary’s. Jin Yaoji 䠁㘰ส, “Rujia lunli yu jingji fazhan: Weibo xueshuo de chongtan” ݂ᇦٛ⨶㠷 ㏃☏Ⲭኅ˖䷻՟ᆨ䃚Ⲵ䟽᧒ [Confucian ethic and economic development: A reinvestigation of Weber’s theories], in his Jin Yaoji shehui wenxuan 䠁㘰ส⽮ᴳ᮷䚨 [Selected essays on society by Yeo-chi King] (Taipei: Youshi wenhua, 1985), 253–80; Yu Zongxian Ҿᇇ‫ݸ‬, “Zhongguo wenhua dui Taiwan jingji chengzhang de yingxiang ѝ഻᮷ॆ ሽਠ⚓㏃☏ᡀ䮧Ⲵᖡ丯 [The influence of Chinese culture on the economic growth of

Editor’s Introduction

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11.

12.

13.

14.

15. 16.

Taiwan],” in Taiwan yu Xianggang de jingji fazhan ਠ⚓㠷俉⑟Ⲵ㏃☏Ⲭኅ [The economic development of Taiwan and Hong Kong], ed. Yu Zongxian et al. (reprint; Taipei: Institute of Economics, Academia Sinica, 1985) , 1–18. Kurt Samuelsson, Religion and Economic Action, trans. Geoffrey French (New York: Basic Books, 1961), 122–23; Thomas S. Ashton, Iron and Steel in the Industrial Revolution, 2nd ed. (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1951). Yü Ying-shih, “Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen” ѝ഻䘁цᇇᮉٛ ⨶㠷୶Ӫ㋮⾎ [The religious ethic and mercantile spirit in early modern China], Zhishi fenzi ⸕䆈࠶ᆀ 2, no. 2 (1986): 3–45. Yü Ying-shih, “Weibo guandian yu ‘Rujia lunli’ xushuo” ䷻՟㿰唎㠷Nj݂ᇦٛ⨶njᒿ䃚 [Preface to Weber’s perspective and Confucian ethics], Zhongguo shibao ѝ഻ᱲ๡ [China Times], June 19, 1985. See also Clifford Geertz, “Religious Belief and Economic Behavior in a Central Japanese Town,” in The Protestant Ethic and Modernization: A Comparative View, ed. S. N. Eisenstadt (New York: Basic Books, 1968), 309–10. Gordon Marshall, In Search of the Spirit of Capitalism: An Essay on Max Weber’s Protestant Ethic Thesis (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982). The original eulogy is printed in Huang’s biography of Wu: Huang Jinxing (Huang Chin-shing) 哳䙢㠸, Banshiji de fendou: Wu Huoshi xiansheng koushu zhuanji ॺц㌰ Ⲵྞ兕˖੣⚛⥵‫⭏ݸ‬ਓ䘠ۣ䁈 [Half-century of struggle: Mr.  Wu Ho-su’s oral biography] (Taipei: Yunchen, 1992). It is included as an appendix to my translation of Huang’s book, Business as a Vocation (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2002), 239–43.

IN TRODUCTION

1. See Robert P. Wolff, “Introduction,” in Kant: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Robert Wolff (New York: Doubleday, 1967), 1. 2. See Jin Yaoji 䠁㘰ส, “Rujia lunli yu jingji fazhan: Weibo xueshuo de chongtan” ݂ᇦٛ ⨶㠷㏃☏Ⲭኅ˖䷻՟ᆨ䃚Ⲵ䟽᧒ [Confucian ethic and economic development: A reinvestigation of Weber’s theories], in his Jin Yaoji shehui wenxuan 䠁㘰ส⽮ᴳ᮷䚨 [Selected essays on society by Ambrose Yeo-chi King] (Taipei: Youshi wenhua, 1985); Yu Zongxian Ҿᇇ‫ݸ‬, “Zhongguo wenhua dui Taiwan jingji chengzhang de yingxiang” ѝ഻᮷ॆሽਠ⚓㏃☏ᡀ䮧Ⲵᖡ丯 [The influence of Chinese culture on the economic growth of Taiwan], in Taiwan yu Xianggang de jingji fazhan ਠ⚓㠷俉⑟Ⲵ㏃☏ Ⲭኅ [The economic development of Taiwan and Hong Kong], ed. Yu Zongxian et al., (reprint; Taipei: Institute of Economics, Academia Sinica, 1985). Both essays discuss, inter alia, the views expressed by modern Western scholars, like Harold Kahn, Robert Bellah, and Peter  L. Berger, on the relationship between religious ethics and economies in East Asia. 3. See Talcott Parsons, “Capitalism in Recent German Literature, II. Max Weber,” Journal of Political Economy 37 (1929): 40.

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4. See Guenther Roth, “Introduction,” in Max Weber, Economy and Society, ed. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 1:lxxii–lxxiii, lxxvi–lxxviii. 5. Friedrich Engels, “Introduction to Socialism: Utopian and Scientific,” in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, On Religion (New York: Schocken Books, 1964), 300–301. 6. See Guenther Roth, “The Historical Relationship to Marxism,” in Scholarship and Partisanship: Essays on Marx Weber, ed. Reinhard Bendix and Guenther Roth (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), 239–46. 7. See Marx’s reply to N. K. Mikhailovsky, in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Basic Writings on Politics and Philosophy, ed. Lewis S. Feuer (New York: Doubleday, 1959), 440ff. 8. See Isaiah Berlin, Karl Marx, 4th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), 197. 9. See Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Allen & Unwin, 1930), 19–20; Roth, “Introduction,” in Weber, Economy and Society, 1:liii–liv. 10. See Yü Ying-shih, “Weibo guandian yu ‘Rujia lunli’ xu shuo” ䷻՟㿰唎㠷“݂ᇦٛ⨶”ᒿ 䃚 [Introductory note on the relationship between the Weberian perspective and the “Confucian ethic”], Zhongguo shibao ѝ഻ᱲ๡ (China Times), “Renjian fukan,” June 19, 1985. 11. See Weber, The Protestant Ethic, 55–56. 12. See Weber, The Protestant Ethic, 91–92; also Talcott Parsons, The Structure of Social Action (New York: Free Press, 1949), part 3, chap. 15, for a discussion of Weber and the role of ideas in history.

PART I: THE INNER- WORLDLY REORIEN TATION OF CHINESE RELIGIONS

1. Max Weber, The Religion of China: Confucianism and Daoism, trans. and ed. Hans H. Gerth (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1951), chap. 5, compares Confucianism and Puritanism. 2. Robert N. Bellah, “Religious Evolution,” in Reader in Comparative Religion, ed. William A. Lessa and Evon Z. Vogt, 2nd ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1965), 82–84. 3. See Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Allen & Unwin, 1930), 79–81. Readers who wish to acquire a deeper understanding of the concept of “calling” may consult the elaborate documentation given in chap. 3, pp.  204–12, nn. 1–6. As for the metamorphosis of the concept of “calling” in the history of Christian thought, see Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, trans. Olive Wyon, 2 vols. (London: Allen & Unwin, 1931), 2:609–12. Nevertheless, Weber’s explication of the concept of “calling” is not a universally accepted one; see, for example, Kurt Samuelsson, Religion and Economic Action, trans. E. Geoffrey French (New York: Basic Books, 1961), 43–47. Yü’s original edition in 1987 had a one-sentence comment on this work;

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however, it was shortened in the draft translation in 1990 and totally omitted in the Chinese edition in 2004, so it is omitted as peripheral in this English version. 4. Troeltsch, Social Teaching, 572–73. 5. Chen Yinke 䲣ᇵᚚ, Jinmingguan conggao, erbian 䠁᰾佘਒は, Ҽ㐘 [Collected papers from the Jinming residence, 2nd ed.] (Shanghai: Guji, 1980), 251.

1. NEW CHAN ( JAPANESE PRONUNCIATION, ZEN) BUDDHISM

1. For the issue of “humanism” in Chinese thought, see Yü Ying-shih, Zhongguo zhishi jieceng shilun ѝ഻⸕䆈䲾ኔਢ䄆 [Historical studies of the Chinese intellectual class] (Taipei: Lianjing, 1980), 54–57. 2. Since the relationship between “this world” and the “other world” in Chinese thought remains one that is neither too familiar nor too distant, the Chinese ideal world may be characterized as one of “inner transcendence.” For a detailed discussion, see Yü Ying-shih, Cong jiazhi xitong kan Zhongguo wenhua de xiandai yiyi ᗎ‫ܩ‬٬㌫㎡ⴻѝ഻᮷ॆⲴ⨮ԓ᜿㗙 [The present-day significance of Chinese culture in terms of its traditional system of values] (Taipei: Shibao wenhua, 1984). For a discussion of the humanistic tendency in notions of immortality in religious Daoism of the Qin-Han period, see Ying-shih Yü, “Life and Immortality in the Religious Mind of Han China,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 25 (1964–1965): 80–122. 3. On the extended historical process of the Sinicization of Buddhism, see Kenneth K.  S. Chen, The Chinese Transformation of Buddhism (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1973). 4. Qian Mu 䥒ぶ, “Zailun Chanzong yu lixue” ޽䄆⿚ᇇ㠷⨶ᆨ [Further discussion of the relationship between Chan Buddhism and new Confucianism], in Zhongguo xueshu sixiangshi luncong ѝ഻ᆨ㺃ᙍᜣਢ䄆਒ [Collected essays on Chinese intellectual history] (Taipei: Dongda tushu, 1978), 4:232. 5. It is very difficult to determine conclusively whether Huineng was “illiterate,” for his biography amalgamates considerable elements of religious myth. Ui Hakuju ᆷӅ՟༭ (1882–1963) has made a detailed comparison of all the relevant biographies of Huineng in his “Rokuso Enō den” ‫⾆ޝ‬ᜐ㜭ۣ [Biography of Sixth Patriarch Huineng]; see his Zenshū shi kenkyū ⿚ᇇਢ⹄ウ [Studies in the history of Chan Buddhism] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1941), chap. 2. According to his judgment, Huineng was able to find spare time to read various Buddhist sutras during his youth when he worked as a firewood vendor to provide for his mother, and this background enabled him to attain “sudden enlightenment” later in his life (188–89). In Yinshun’s ঠ丶 Zhongguo Chanzongshi ѝ഻⿚ᇇਢ [A history of Chinese Chan Buddhism] (Taipei: Chung-Hwa Institute of Buddhist Studies, 1971), he offered an implicit critique of Ui Hakuju’s thesis by arguing that Huineng’s sudden enlightenment was due to his “innate powers” (li gen ࡙ṩ), and that it is in any case not impossible for an illiterate man to thoroughly understand the Buddhist Dharma (191–93). While it is not easy to

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6.

7. 8. 9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

18.

arrive at a real solution to this problem, it may be reasonably assumed that Huineng was not very well educated. Huineng ភ㜭 (ascribed author), Tanjing ໷㏃ [hereafter, the Platform Sutra]; the Dunhuang text of the Platform Sutra quoted here follows that in the Tanjing jiaoshi ໷㏃ṑ䟻 [Collated annotations of the Platform Sutra], ed. and ann. Guo Peng 䜝ᴻ (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1983). Zezang 䌮㯿, ed., Gu zunsu yulu ਔሺᇯ䃎䤴 [Recorded conversations of ancient venerable monks], juan 12, comment by Nanquan Puyuan ই⋹Პ予. Robert N. Bellah, “Religious Evolution,” in Reader in Comparative Religion, ed. William A. Lessa and Evon Z. Vogt, 2d ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1965), 82. Quoted in Daoxuan, Guang Hongming ji ᔓᕈ᰾䳶 [Further collection of essays on Buddhism], juan 7. [This quotation is an example of Yü’s decision to omit parts of a passage that were tangential and/or would require extensive explanation for nonChinese readers; see editorial note for discussion of this issue.] See Nakamura Hajime ѝᶁ‫( ݳ‬1912–1999), “Zen ni okeru seisan to rōdō no mondai” ⿚ȀǟǦȠ⭏⭒ǽऎअȃ୿乼 [On the questions of production and labor in Chan Buddhism], parts 1 and 2, Zen bunka ⿚᮷ॆ 2 (September 1955): 27–35, and 3 (December 1955): 7–15. Huijiao ភⲾ, Liang Gaoseng zhuan ằ儈‫[ ۣܗ‬Biographies of eminent monks in the Liang dynasty], juan 3, “Faxian zhuan” ⌅亟ۣ. Sengyou ‫⾀ܗ‬, Hongming ji ᕈ᰾䳶 [Collection of essays on Buddhism], juan 6, Daoheng 䚃ᙶ, “Shibo lun” 䟻俱䄆 [On refuting Buddhism]. Zanning 䌺ሗ, Song Gaoseng zhuan ᆻ儈‫[ ۣܗ‬Biographies of eminent monks in the Song dynasty], juan 10, “Huaihai zhuan” ᠧ⎧ۣ [Biography of Huaihai]. Baizhang Huaihai Ⲯиᠧ⎧, Baizhang qinggui Ⲯи␵㾿 [Monastic rules of Baizhang], latter juan, chap. 7, “Dazhong zhang” བྷ⵮ㄐ [Chapter on the religious community]. See Mujaku Dōchū ❑㪇䚃ᘐ (1653–1744), Zenrin shōki sen ⿚᷇䊑ಘㆻ [Compendium of big works from the Chan Forest], juan 9, “Conggui men” ਒䓼䮰. Puji Პ☏ et  al., Wudeng huiyuan ӄ⟸ᴳ‫[ ݳ‬Synthesis of the five “lamps”], juan 3, “Baizhang Huaihai zhang” [chapter on Baizhang Huaihai]. Chen Xu 䲣䂑, “Tang Hongzhou Baizhangshan gu Huaihai Chanshi taming” ୀ⍚ᐎ Ⲯиኡ᭵ᠧ⎧⿚ᑛຄ䣈 [Stupa epitaph for the late Chan master Huaihai of the Tang, of Mount Baizhang in Hongzhou], in Quan Tang wen ‫ޘ‬ୀ᮷ [Complete Tang prose], juan 466. For documentation of the “one day no work, one day no food” spirit, see Ui Hakuju, Zenshūshi kenkyū, 369–70. It may be noted that in his “Nankang jun Kaixian Chanyuan xiuzao ji” ইᓧ䓽䮻‫⿚ݸ‬䲒‫؞‬䙐䁈 [In commemoration of the construction of the Kaixian Chan Monastery in Nankang Commandery], Huang Tingjian 哳ᓝี (1045–1105) wrote, “Yaoshan 㰕ኡ encircled his belly with three strips of bamboo, not taking meals any day during which he did not work.” (Yuzhang Huang xiansheng wenji 䊛ㄐ哳‫⭏ݸ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Huang Tingjian], juan 18.) Consequently, the “no work, no food” anecdote also came to be associated with Yaoshan Weiyan 㰕ኡᜏ‫( ݬ‬751–834). However, neither Zanning’s Song Gaoseng zhuan nor

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213

19. 20. 21.

22.

Daoyuan’s 䚃৏ Jingde chuandeng lu Ჟᗧۣ⟸䤴 [Records of the transmission of the lamp compiled during the Jingde period, 1004–1007] relates anything in this connection. Weiyan was a second-generation disciple of Qingyuan Xingsi 䶂৏㹼ᙍ (671– 740), which shows that by the Northern Song dynasty “inner-worldly asceticism” had already become a common spirit shared by the various sects of Chan Buddhism. Zanning, Song Gaoseng zhuan, juan 10, “Huaihai zhuan.” Zezang, ed., Gu zunsu yulu, juan 1, “Dajian xia sanshi” བྷ䪁лйц” [Huaihai, thirdgeneration disciple of Huineng]. Also found in the Chanyuan qinggui ⿚㤁␵㾿 [Monastic rules of the Chan community], completed in 1003 by Zongze ᇇ䌮, juan 9; both titles are included in the Japanese collection by Maeda Eun ࡽ⭠ភӁ (1857–1930) and Nakano Tatsue ѝ䟾䚄ភ (1871–1934), eds., Zoku Zōkyō 㒼㯿㏃ [Supplement to the Daizōkyō (Zangjing)], vol. 2 (Kyoto: Zōkyō shoin, 1905–1912). In “Zen ni okeru seisan to rōdō no mondai,” Nakamura Hajime located the turning point in the Chan Buddhists’ reorientation toward physical labor in the fourth patriarch Daoxin 䚃ؑ (580–651). In his opinion, the Dalin Monastery in the Lu Mountains, as well as the fifth patriarch’s Temple on the East Mountain (east of Mount Shuangfeng, the home of the fourth patriarch) in Huangmei district, were physically remote communities of several hundred to a thousand people; therefore mendicancy could not possibly have been a viable means of livelihood there. Moreover, after the An Lushan rebellion, monasteries could no longer count on endowments of estates from aristocrats. According to Nakamura, it was under such circumstances that Baizhang Huaihai’s new rule, “one day no work, one day no food,” evolved (27–35). As far as I can tell, Nakamura’s contention seems to have been a speculative one that does not quite tally with the facts. For even after the An Lushan rebellion, there were still donations of land by aristocrats to monasteries, as well as purchases of large areas of property by the monasteries from time to time, especially in South China places like Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Tiantai, which were safe from the upheavals caused by the rebellion. See the various cases of “estates and land held by Buddhist monasteries and Daoist temples” in Tao Xisheng 䲦ᐼ㚆, ed., Tangdai siyuan jingji ୀԓሪ䲒㏃☏ [Monastery economy during the Tang dynasty] (Taipei: Shihuo, 1974). See also the Dunhuang and related historical materials on monastery property cited in Jacques Gernet (1921–2018), Les Aspects Économiques du Buddhisme dans la Société Chinoise du Ve au Xe Siècle (Paris: École Française d’Extrême-Orient, 1956), 112–38. There is certainly no doubt that the Tang social economy underwent important changes after the An Lushan rebellion, but whether this suffices to explain the emergence of the Baizhang qinggui awaits verification through further research. On the Chinese Buddhist economic thought reflected in the Baizhang qinggui, see Michihata Ryōshū 䚃ㄟ㢟⿰, Chūgoku Bukkyō to shakai to no kōshō ѝ഻֋ᮉǽ⽮ᴳǽȃӔ⎹ [The connection between Buddhism and society in China] (Kyoto: Heirakutera, 1980), 45–67; and Kenneth Chen, Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, 145–51. Zongze, Chanyuan qinggui, juan 9.

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23. Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Allen & Unwin, 1930), 80; Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, trans. Olive Wyon, 2 vols. (London: Allen & Unwin, 1931), 609–10. 24. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei ᵡᆀ䃎于 [Classified conversations of Master Zhu Xi], juan 52. 25. Zhai Hao 㘏⚍, Tongsu pian 䙊؇ㇷ [Dictionary of common and popular sayings], juan 12, xingshi 㹼һ chap. 26. See Ui Hakuju, “Hajō shingi no rekishi teki igi” Ⲯи␵㾿ȃ↧ਢⲴ᜿㗙 [The historical significance of the monastic rules of Baizhang], in his Bukkyō shisō kenkyū ֋ᮉᙍᜣ ⹄ウ [Studies in Buddhist thought] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1943), 628–45. This essay traces in detail the origins and development of the “monastic rules of Baizhang” in the history of Buddhism and pays particular attention to the influence it exerted on Japanese Zen Buddhism. For a discussion of the latter point, see also Imaeda Aishin Ӻ᷍ᝋⵏ, “Shingi no denrai to rufu” ␵㾿ȃֶۣǽ⍱ᐳ [The incoming and dissemination of the monastic rules], in his Chūsei Zenshūshi no kenkyū ѝц⿚ᇇਢȃ⹄ ウ [Studies in the history of Chan Buddhism in medieval times] (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku, 1970), chap. 3, sec. 3, pp. 56–72.

2. NEW RELIGIOUS DAOISM

1. See Yoshioka Yoshitoyo ਔዑ㗙䊀, Dōkyō no kenkyū 䚃ᮉȃ⹄ウ [Daoist research] (Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1952), 132. 2. Yuan Haowen ‫୿ྭݳ‬, Yishan xiansheng wenji 䚪ኡ‫⭏ݸ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Yuan Haowen], juan 35, “Ziwei guan ji” ㍛ᗞ㿰䁈 [Chronicle of the Ziwei Temple]. 3. Daoxuan 䚃ᇓ, Xu Gaoseng zhuan 㒼儈‫[ ۣܗ‬Supplement to Biographies of Eminent Monks], juan 10. [The Yogācārabhūmi-śāstra is an encyclopedic Yogācāra treatise on stages of Yogic practice and enlightenment. The Yingluo Sutra was Taosheng’s commentary on the Lotus Sutra.] 4. Yuan Jue 㺱ầ, Qingrong jushi ji ␵ᇩት༛䳶 [Collected works lay Buddhist Qingrong], juan 19, “Yeyue guan ji” 䟾ᴸ㿰䁈 [Chronicle of the Yeyue Temple]. 5. Ui Hakuju ᆷӅ՟༭, Zenshūshi kenkyū ⿚ᇇਢ⹄ウ [Studies in the history of Chan Buddhism] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1941), 395 (appendix), quoting Otani Kohou བྷ䉧⒆ጟ (b. 1911). 6. For Wang Pan’s inscription, see Li Daoqian ᵾ䚃䅉, Ganshui xianyuan lu ⭈≤ԉⓀ䤴 [Record of the magic water at Ganhe and the source of immortality], juan 5, “Chengming zhenren daoxing bei” 䃐᰾ⵏӪ䚃㹼⻁ [Inscription on the spiritual attainment of True Man Chengming]. 7. Wang Yun ⦻ᜢ, Qiujian xiansheng daquan wenji ⿻◇‫⭏ݸ‬བྷ‫ޘ‬᮷䳶 [Complete works of Wang Yun], juan 58, “Da Yuan Fengshengzhou xinjian Yongchang guan beiming” བྷ‫ཹݳ‬㚆ᐎᯠᔪ≨᰼㿰⻁䣈 [Stele inscription for the newly constructed Yongchang Temple in Fengsheng Prefecture of the great Yuan dynasty]. 8. Zhou Hui ઘ❷, Qingbo zazhi ␵⌒䴌䂼 [Miscellaneous treatises from the dwelling at Qingbo Gate], juan 3B.

2. New Religious Daoism •

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9. For a general treatment of official religious Daoism during the Song dynasty, see Kubo Noritada ╕ᗧᘐ (1913–1987), Dōkyōshi 䚃ᮉਢ [A history of religious Daoism] (Tokyo: Sansen shuppansha, 1977), 258–87. For a special discussion of the relationship between Emperor Huizong of the Song and religious Daoism, see Jin Zhongshu 䠁ѝ⁎, “Lun Bei Song monian zhi chongshang Daojiao” 䄆ेᆻᵛᒤѻጷቊ䚃ᮉ [On the veneration of religious Daoism during the last years of the Northern Song], Xinya xuebao ᯠӎᆨ๡ 7, no. 2 (August 1966), and 8, no. 1 (February 1967). We cannot of course take Wang Yun’s words literally and conclude that new religious Daoism was entirely free from “preposterous and imaginary elements.” Indeed, acts of “imaginary preposterousness” and “sacrificial ritual” could be found occasionally in the Complete Truth sect; such elements could not be absolutely avoided in popular religions. It remains generally valid, however, to maintain that “inner-worldly asceticism” was indeed the founding spirit of the Complete Truth sect. See Liu Cunren ḣᆈӱ, “Quanzhenjiao he xiaoshuo Xiyou ji, er” ‫ⵏޘ‬ᮉ઼ሿ䃚㾯䙺䁈(Ҽ) [The Complete Truth sect and the novel The Journey to the West, pt. 2], Mingbao yuekan ᰾๡ᴸ ࠺ 20, no. 6 (June 1985): 59–60. 10. Wang Yun, Qiujian xiansheng daquan wenji, juan 61, “Tidian Zhangdelu Daojiaoshi Jiranzi Huo jun daoxing jiebei” ᨀ唎ᖠᗧ䐟䚃ᮉһᇲ❦ᆀ䴽ੋ䚃㹼⻓⻁ [Stele commemorating the Daoist practice of Master Jiran, the Lord Huo, in the circuit of Zhengde]. 11. Yin Zhiping ቩᘇᒣ, Beiyou yulu े䙺䃎䤴 [Recorded conversations while on northward travels], in Daozang 䚃㯿 DZ 1310. 12. Wang Zhijin ⦻ᘇ䅩, Panshan yulu ⴔኡ䃎䤴 [Recorded conversations of Panshan]. 13. On Wang Chongyang’s Lijiao shiwu lun ・ᮉॱӄ䄆 [Fifteen discussions upon the founding of the sect], see Yoshioka Yoshitoyo, Dōkyō no kenkyū, 176–80. 14. Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, trans. Olive Wyon, 2 vols. (London: Allen & Unwin, 1931), 609. 15. These various citations from Yin Zhiping’s Beiyou yulu and Wang Zhijin’s Panshan yulu are quoted in Qian Mu 䥒ぶ, “Jin Yuan tongzhi xia zhi xinDaojiao” 䠁‫ݳ‬㎡⋫лѻ ᯠ䚃ᮉ [New religious Daoism under the rule of the Jin and Yuan dynasties], in Zhongguo xueshu sixiangshi luncong ѝ഻ᆨ㺃ᙍᜣਢ䄆਒ [Collected essays on Chinese intellectual history] (Taipei: Dongda tushu, 1978), 6:201–11. 16. Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Allen & Unwin, 1930), 158. Compare this with what Wang Yun describes as Yin Zhiping’s key methods of cultivation in Wang’s Qiujian xiansheng daquan wenji, juan 56, “Da Yuan gu Qinghe Miaodao Guanghua zhenren xuanmen zhangjiao dazongshi Yingong daoxing beiming” བྷ‫ݳ‬᭵␵઼࿉䚃ᔓॆⵏӪ⦴䮰ᦼᮉབྷᇇᑛቩ‫ޜ‬䚃 㹼⻁䣈 [Inscription on the spiritual attainment of Great Master Yin of the Great Yuan dynasty, late Qinghe Miaodao Guanghua True Man and high priest of the Mysterious Gate]: “The gravest obstructions to self-cultivation are the three desires of gluttony, sleep and lust. Overeating means oversleeping, which in turn gives rise to sexual desire. There are none who do not know this truth, yet only a few can practice it. To truly restrain such desires, one must first obliterate the desire for sleep.” This can also confirm that the previously quoted statements about “prohibiting sleeping” and

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17.

18.

19. 20. 21.

22. 23.

24.

25. 26. 27.

28.

29.

30.

“submitting to hard toil” had indeed always represented the methods taught by the Complete Truth sect. In addition, the end of the inscription records that Yin Zhiping’s disciple Qiu Zhilong ӷᘇ䲶 “lived in the Zhongnan Mountains for over forty years, purifying himself for self-cultivation and tilling the soil for his own food.” This statement further proves that after three generations, the Complete Truth sect still adhered to its precepts: “submitting to hard toil” and “one day no work, one day no food.” This inscription was not recorded in a publication before the twentieth century; the Chinese text here follows that quoted in Chen Yuan 䲣ී, Nan Song chu Hebei xinDaojiao kao ইᆻࡍ⋣ेᯠ䚃ᮉ㘳 [Investigations into new religious Daoism of Hebei Province during the early Southern Song] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1962), 41. Wang Yun, Qiujian xiansheng dachuan wenji, juan 5, “You Guichuan Shuigu Taixuan Daogong” 䙺ჟᐍ≤䉧ཚ⦴䚃ᇞ [Visiting the Supreme Mystery Daoist Temple in Water Valley, Gui Stream]. See the “Xingyou pin” 㹼⭡૱, in Huineng’s Platform Sutra. Chen Yuan, Nan Song chu Hebei xinDaojiao kao, 91. Wu Cheng ੣▴, Wu Caolu ji ੣㥹ᔜ䳶 [Collected works of Wu Cheng], juan 26, “Xuzhou Tianbaogong bei” 䁡ᐎཙሦᇞ⻁ [Inscription for the Heavenly Treasures Temple of Xuzhou]. See the biographies of Buddhists and Daoists in Song Lian ᆻ◲ et al., eds., Yuanshi ‫ݳ‬ਢ [History of the Yuan dynasty], juan 202. Yu Ji 㲎䳶, Daoyuan xuegu lu 䚃ൂᆨਔ䤴 [Records of Yu Ji’s imitation of the ancients], juan 50, “ZhendaDaojiao dibadai Chongxuan Quanghua Zhenren Yuegong zhi bei” ⵏབྷ䚃ᮉㅜ‫ޛ‬ԓጷ⦴ᔓॆⵏӪዣ‫ޜ‬ѻ⻁ [Inscription for Master Yue, the eighth generation Chongxuan Guanghua True Man of the True Great Way sect]. Song Lian ᆻ◲, Song Xueshi wenji ᆻᆨ༛᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Academician Song Lian], juan 55, “Shu Liu Zhenren shi” ᴨࢹⵏӪһ [On the deeds of True Man Liu]. This inscription has not been formally recorded; Chinese text quoted in Chen Yuan, Nan Song chu Hebei xinDaojiao kao, 87. Chen Yuan, Nan Song chu Hebei xinDaojiao kao, 88. Wang Yun, Qiujian xiansheng daquan wenji, juan 61, “Taiyi sandai dushi xiankao Wangjun mubiao” ཚайԓᓖᑛ‫ݸ‬㘳⦻ੋໃ㺘 [Tomb memorial for the late Mr. Wang, third generation conversion master of the Supreme Unity sect]. Huang Yuanji 哴‫ݳ‬ਹ, Jing ming zhong xiao quanshu ␘᰾ᘐᆍ‫ޘ‬ᴨ [Complete writings of the Purity, Illumination, Loyalty, and Filial Piety sect], juan 3, the “Neiji” ‫ޗ‬䳶 [Inner collection] of the Yuzhen Liu xiansheng yulu ⦹ⵏࢹ‫⭏ݸ‬䃎䤴 [Recorded conversations of Teacher Liu Yuzhen (Liu Yu)]. See Akizuki Kan’ei ⿻ᴸ㿰⪋ (b. 1922), Chūgoku kinsei Dōkyō no keisei: Jōmyōdō no kisoteki kenkyū ѝ഻䘁ц䚃ᮉȃᖒᡀ˖␘᰾䚃ȃส⼾⹄ウ [The formation of Daoism in early modern China: Research on the foundation of the Purity-Illumination sect] (Tokyo: Sobunsha, 1978), 179. Wang Yun, Qiujian xiansheng daquan wenji, juan 61, “Sandai dushi Wangjun mubiao,” and his “Gu Taiyi erdai dushi xiankao Hanjun mujiebei” ᭵ཚаҼԓᓖᑛ‫ݸ‬㘳

2. New Religious Daoism •

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31. 32.

33.

34.

七ੋໃ⻓⻁ [Tomb inscription for the late Mr.  Han, second generation conversion master of the Supreme Unity sect]. Yuan Haowen, Yishan xiansheng wenji, juan 35, “Ziwei guan ji.” In his Nan Song chu Hebei xinDaojiao kao, Chen Yuan remarked, “The founding patriarchs of the three sects thus established new principles, assembling their disciples and instructing them only to live by their own labor” (4). Chen’s statement is applicable only to the Complete Truth and True Great Way sects, not the Supreme Unity sect. For a study of the Taishang ganying pian [Book of divine responses to human conduct], see Yoshioka Yoshitoyo, Dōkyō no kenkyū, chap. 2, “Kanno hen to koka kaku” [Ganying Pian and the merit-demerit scale]. See Yoshioka Yoshitoyo, Dōkyō no kenkyū, 131. For a discussion of the Complete Truth sect’s amalgamation of the teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism and its defining characteristic of inner-worldly asceticism, see also Kubo Noritada ╕ᗧᘐ, Chūgoku no shūkyō kaikaku—Zenshinkyū no seiritsu ѝ഻ȃᇇᮉ᭩ 䶙——‫ⵏޘ‬ᮉȃᡀ・ [Religious reform in China—the formation of the Complete Truth sect] (Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1967). Okuzaki Hiroshi ྗጾ㼅ਨ (1874–1971) offered a comprehensive treatment of the four new religious Daoist sects discussed earlier in his chapter on “minshū Dōkyō” ≁⵮䚃ᮉ [Popular religious Daoism], in Dōkyō 䚃ᮉ, ed. Fukui Kōjun ⾿Ӆᓧ丶 (1898–1991) et  al. (Tokyo: Hirakawa Shuppansha, 1983), vol. 2. His principal theme is that the four main sects of new religious Daoism all display a strong inclination toward an amalgamation of the Three Teachings, with Chan Buddhism exerting a more prominent influence on the Complete Truth sect, and the Confucian ethic on the True Great Way and Purity-Illumination sects. Although such a delineation may be slightly oversimplified, Okuzaki’s observation regarding the general tendency toward an amalgamation of the Three Teachings is a valid one. For a discussion of the Complete Truth sect’s teaching of the “convergence of the Three Teachings,” see Liu Cunren, “Quanzhenjiao he xiaoshuo,” 71. Liu discovers that The Journey to the West does indeed have connections with the Complete Truth sect, a finding that is of great significance from the perspective of religious history as well.

3. THE RISE OF NEW CONFUCIANISM AND THE INFLUENCE OF CHAN BUDDHISM

1. Zhao Yi 䏉㘬, Nian’er shi zhaji ᔯҼਢࢴ䁈 [Miscellaneous notes on the twenty-two histories], juan 20, “Tangchu San Li Hanshu Wenxuan zhi xue” ୀࡍй⿞╒ᴨ᮷䚨ѻᆨ [On the learning of the Three Rites, the History of the Han Dynasty, and the Anthology of Literature during the Early Tang]. See also Chen Yinke 䲣ᇵᚚ, “Liyi” ⿞ܰ [Rites and propriety], in his Sui Tang zhidu yuanyuan luelun gao 䲻ୀࡦᓖ␥Ⓚ⮕䄆は [Preliminary sketch discussions of the origins of Sui and Tang institutions] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1963), chap. 2.

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2. Ouyang Xiu ↀ䲭‫؞‬, Xin Tangshu ᯠୀᴨ [New history of the Tang dynasty], juan 11, “Li yue yi” ⿞′а [Treatise on rites and music, part 1]. 3. Han Yu, in Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩, Zhu Wengong jiao Changli xiansheng ji ᵡ᮷‫ޜ‬ṑ᰼哾‫⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Collected works of Han Yu, collated by Zhu Xi], juan 11, “Yuan Dao” ৏䚃 [An inquiry on the Way]. 4. Han Yu, juan 11, “Xie ziran shi” 䅍㠚❦䂙 [Poem in gratitude to nature]. 5. Chen Yinke 䲣ᇵᚚ, “Lun Han Yu” 䄆七᜸ [On Han Yu], in his Jinming guan conggao, chubian 䠁᰾佘਒はࡍ㐘 [Collected papers from the Jinming Residence, first series] (Shanghai: Guji, 1981), 287. Chen also correctly observes that Han Yu’s various points in denouncing Buddhism had already been raised by others (289). This may also be seen in Tang Yongtong ⒟⭘ᖔ, “Han Yu yu Tangdai shidafu zhi fanFo” 七᜸㠷ୀԓ༛བྷ ཛѻ৽֋ [Han Yu and Tang scholar-officials’ anti-Buddhist sentiments], in his Sui Tang Fojiaoshi gao 䲻ୀ֋ᮉਢは [Preliminary discussions on the history of Buddhism during the Sui and Tang periods] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1982), chap. 1, sec. 5, pp. 31–40. After the publication of the original Chinese version of my study, I received a copy of Charles Hartman’s Han Yu and the Tang Search for Unity (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), in which Hartman arrived at the same view as mine. Of special significance is Hartman’s use of new materials (Zutang ji ⾆า䳶 [Collection from the Hall of Patriarchs]) to substantiate Chen Yinke’s argument (5–15, 93–99). 6. Dazhao བྷ➗, Dacheng kaixin xianxing dunwu zhenzong lun བྷ҈䮻ᗳ亟ᙗ乃ᛏⵏᇇ䄆 [Discussion of the Mahayana doctrines of opening the heart, manifesting the nature, sudden enlightenment, and true essence]. 7. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei ᵡᆀ䃎于 [Classified conversations of Zhu Xi], juan 52. 8. Zhu Xi, juan 52. 9. Chen Yinke, “Lun Han Yu,” 286. However, Han Yu’s borrowing of the Chan theory of the transmission of the mind came to be ridiculed by Buddhists of later generations. For instance, Qisong ཱྀ᎙ (1007–1072) observed that since the successors from Yu onward in Han Yu’s line of transmission were chronologically disconnected from one another, “how could they have met each other for the personal transmission to take place?” See Qisong ཱྀ᎙, Tanjin wenji 䩄⍕᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Qisong] (Taishō Shinshū Daizōkyō, vol.  52, Division of Histories and Biographies, part 4), juan 14, chap. 1, “Fei Han, shang” 䶎七к [Criticism of Han Yu, part 1]. 10. Huineng, Platform Sutra (Dunhuang ed.), chap. 9. 11. See Daoyuan’s 䚃৏ Jingde chuandeng lu Ჟᗧۣ⟸䤴 [Records of the transmission of the lamp compiled during the Jingde period, 1004–1007], juan 5, paragraph on “Jizhou Qingyuanshan Xingsi Chanshi” ਹᐎ䶂৏ኡ㹼ᙍ⿚ᑛ [Chan master Xingsi of Mount Qingyuan in Jizhou]. However, there is a passage in the biography of Bodhidharma in the Jingde chuandeng lu (juan 3) that runs: “Inwardly, transmit the seal of the Dharma so that it tallies with the experience of the heart; outwardly, pass down the Buddhist robe (kāsāya) to establish the fundamental doctrines.” This statement thus places the beginning of the transmission of the robe and the Dharma in Bodhidharma’s transmission to Huike ភਟ (487–593), but it probably represents a retrospective fabrication by later generations of Chan Buddhists.

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12. Han Yu, in Zhu Xi, Changli xiansheng ji, juan 11, “Shi shuo” ᑛ䃚 [On the teacher]. 13. Liu Zongyuan ḣᇇ‫ݳ‬, Liu Hedong ji ḣ⋣ᶡ䳶 [Collected works of Liu Zongyuan], juan 19, “Shiyou zhen” ᑛ৻㇤ [Exhortatory composition on teachers and friends]. See also Liu Hedong ji, juan 34, “Da Wei Zhongli lun shidao shu” ㆄ䷻ѝ・䄆ᑛ䚃ᴨ [Letter in reply to Wei Zhongli’s discussion on the Way of the teacher]; “Da Yan Houyu xiucai lun shidao shu” ㆄ೤৊䕯⿰᡽䄆ᑛ䚃ᴨ [Letter replying to Cultivated Talent Yan Houyu’s discussion on the Way of the teacher]; and “Bao Yuanjun Chen xiucai bi shiming shu” ๡㺱ੋ䲣⿰᡽䚯ᑛ਽ᴨ [Letter in reply to Mr. Yuan’s and Cultivated Talent Chen’s avoidance of assuming the title of teacher]. 14. Lü Wen ੲⓛ, Lü Heshu wenji ੲ઼਄᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Lü Wen], juan 3, “Yu zuxiong Gao qingxue Chunqiu shu” 㠷᯿‫Ⳁݴ‬䃻ᆨ᱕⿻ᴨ [Letter to elder cousin Gao consulting him on the Spring and Autumn Annals]. 15. Chen Yinke, Tangdai zhengzhishi shu lungao ୀԓ᭯⋫ਢ䘠䄆は [Preliminary discussion of Tang political history] (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1947), 60–61. 16. See Osabe Kazuo 䮧䜘઼䳴, “Tōdai Zenshū kōsō no shisho kyōka ni tsuite” ୀԓ⿚ᇇ儈 ‫ܗ‬ȃ༛ᓦᮉॆȀቡǙǻ [On the conversion of the literati and the common people by eminent Chan monks during the Tang dynasty], in Haneda hakushi shōju ki’nen Tōyōshi ronsō 㗭⭠ঊ༛丼༭㌰ᘥᶡ⌻ਢ䄆਒ [Collected studies on Japanese history in celebration of Dr. Haneda’s birthday] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1950), 293–319. 17. Daoyuan, Jingde chuandeng lu, juan 5, “Yinzong zhuan” ঠᇇۣ [Biography of Yinzong]. 18. See Chen Yuan 䲣ී, Shishi yinian lu 䟻∿⯁ᒤ䤴 [Records of uncertainties in Buddhist chronology] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1964), 442. There are also instances during the Northern Song of a monk’s father becoming the son’s “Dharma-successor”; see Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, Henan Chengshi yishu ⋣ই〻∿䚪ᴨ [Surviving writings of the Chengs of Henan], juan 22A, “Yichuan zalu” Ժᐍ䴌䤴 [Miscellaneous records of Cheng Yi 〻乔]. 19. Zezang 䌮㯿, ed., Gu zunsu yulu ਔሺᇯ䃎䤴 [Recorded conversations of ancient venerable monks], juan 5, “Linji Chanshi yulu zhi yu” 㠘☏⿚ᑛ䃎䤴ѻ佈 [Residual recorded conversations of Chan master Linji]. 20. See Daoyuan, Jingde chuandeng lu, juan 16, “Quanhuo zhuan” ‫ޘ‬䉱ۣ [Biography of Quanhuo]. 21. For a discussion of Tang Confucians’ advocacy for the Way of the teacher, see Qian Mu 䥒ぶ, “Zalun Tangdai guwen yundong” 䴌䄆ୀԓਔ᮷䙻अ [Miscellaneous discussion of the ancient-prose movement of the Tang dynasty], sec.  8, in his Zhongguo xueshu sixiangshi luncong ѝ഻ᆨ㺃ᙍᜣਢ䄆਒ [Collected essays on Chinese intellectual history], 4:67–69. On the Chan Buddhist elements in Han Yu’s “On the Teacher,” see also Hartman, Han Yu, 162–66. 22. Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, Henan Chengshi yishu ⋣ই〻∿䚪ᴨ [Surviving writings of the Chengs of Henan], juan 4, “You Dingfu” ⑨ᇊཛ [Recorded by You Dingfu]. 23. Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, juan 12, passage from the Shangcai yulu к㭑䃎䤴 [Recorded conversations of Xie Liangzuo 䅍㢟ր]. 24. For details, see Yan Gengwang ೤㙅ᵋ, “Tangren xiye shanlin siyuan zhi fengshang” ୀӪ㘂ᾝኡ᷇ሪ䲒ѻ付ቊ [On the Tang people’s custom of studying at monasteries in

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25. 26.

27.

28. 29.

the mountains and forests], in his Tangshi yanjiu conggao ୀਢ⹄ウ਒は [Collected studies in Tang History] (Hong Kong: New Asia Research Institute, Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1969), esp. 421–24. Sheng Langxi ⴋᵇ㾯, Zhongguo shuyuan zhidu ѝ഻ᴨ䲒ࡦᓖ [The academy system in (traditional) China], reprint (Taipei: Huashi, 1977), 21–24. Cheng and Cheng, Henan Chengshi waishu, juan 12, passage quoted from Lü Benzhong ੲᵜѝ, “Lüshi tongmeng xun” ੲ∿ㄕ㫉䁃 [Lü’s instructions for children]. In Wu Zeng’s ੣ᴮ Nenggaizhai manlu 㜭᭩啻╛䤴 [Random records from the Correctible Studio] (Shanghai: Guji, 1979), “Chan monastery” reads “Tianning Monastery” ཙሗሪ; see juan 12, section on “the dignity of the Three Dynasties is all here.” Nan Huaijin ইᠧ⪮, “Chanzong Conglin zhidu yu Zhongguo wenhua jiaoyu de jingshen” ⿚ᇇ਒᷇ࡦᓖ㠷ѝ഻᮷ॆᮉ㛢Ⲵ㋮⾎ [The Conglin Monastery system of Chan Buddhism and the spirit of Chinese culture and education], in his Chan yu Dao gailun ⿚㠷䚃ᾲ䄆 [General discussion of Chan Buddhism and Daoism] (Taipei: Zhenshanmei, 1968), 120; however, Nan appears to mistake Cheng Hao for Cheng Yi. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 7. See Imaeda Aishin Ӻ᷍ᝋⵏ, “Shingi no denrai to rufu” ␵㾿ȃֶۣǽ⍱ᐳ [The incoming and dissemination of the monastic rules], in his Chūsei Zenshūshi no kenkyū ѝц ⿚ᇇਢȃ⹄ウ [Studies in the history of Chan Buddhism in medieval times], chap. 3, sec. 3, pp. 56–64.

4. ESTABLISHING THE “WORLD OF HEAVEN’S PRINCIPLES”

1. Han Yu, in Zhu Xi, ed., Zhu Wengong jiao Changli xiansheng ji ᵡ᮷‫ޜ‬ṑ᰼哾‫⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Collected works of Han Yu, collated by Zhu Xi], juan 11. 2. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei ᵡᆀ䃎于 [Classified conversations of Master Zhu Xi], ed. Li Jingde ᵾ䶆ᗧ, juan 137. 3. Han Yu, in Zhu Xi, ed., Changli xiansheng ji, juan 18, “Yu Meng shangshu shu” 㠷ᆏቊ ᴨᴨ [Letter to Minister Meng]. 4. See Li Ao ᵾ㘡, Li Wengong ji ᵾ᮷‫ޜ‬䳶 [Collected works of Li Ao], juan 2. 5. Zhu Xi also admitted that Li Ao “had considerable capability.” He said that Li’s “Essay of the Recovery of the Nature” shows “a lot of reflections” but added, “The principles underlying them are derived from Buddhism.” See Zhuzi yulei, juan 137. 6. See Zanning 䌺ሗ, Song Gaoseng zhuan ᆻ儈‫[ ۣܗ‬Biographies of eminent monks in the Song dynasty], juan 17, “Tang Langzhou Yaoshan Weiyan zhuan” ୀᵇᐎ㰕ኡᜏ‫ۣݬ‬ [Biography of Weiyan of Mount Yao in Langzhou during the Tang]; as well as Daoyuan’s 䚃৏ Jingde chuandeng lu Ჟᗧۣ⟸䤴 [Records of the transmission of the lamp compiled during the Jingde period, 1004–1007], juan 14, “Lizhou Yaoshan Weiyan Chanshi” ◗ᐎ㰕ኡᜏ‫⿚ݬ‬ᑛ [Chan master Weiyan of Mount Yao in Lizhou]. However, such stories were not fully credited, even by the more perceptive among the Buddhists. For instance, in Qisong’s ཱྀ᎙ Tanjin wenji 䩄⍕᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Qisong], juan 1, “Quanshu diyi” नᴨㅜа [Advice on books, part 1], he expressed

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7. 8.

9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

doubt about the veracity of the account given in the Song Gaoseng zhuan. There are elaborate discussions of Li Ao’s consulting Weiyan on matters pertaining to the Way; see Yongrong ≨⪒, Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao ഋᓛ‫ޘ‬ᴨ㑭ⴞᨀ㾱 [Comprehensive annotated list of the complete library of the four branches of books], juan 150, “Jibu san” 䳶䜘й [Division of belles-lettres, 3]; as well as Yu Jiaxi ։హ䥛, Siku tiyao bianzheng ഋᓛᨀ㾱䗟䅹 [Critical study of the Comprehensive Annotated List of the Complete Library of the Four Branches of Books] (Hong Kong: Zhonghua, 1974), 2:1286–89. However, these two sources cite neither the Song Gaoseng zhuan nor the Tanjin wenji. Completed in the first year of the Duangong ㄟᤡ reign (988), the Song Gaoseng zhuan dates earlier than the Jingde chuandeng lu but includes no record of the story of Li Ao’s poem—which makes its origin a dubious one. Zhiyuan Ცൃ, Xianju bian 䯁ት㐘 [Compilations in leisurely living], juan 19, “Zhongyongzi zhuan” ѝᓨᆀۣ [Biography of Master Zhongyong]. Cheng quoted in Cheng Hao 〻井 and Cheng Yi 〻乔, Henan Chengshi cuiyan ⋣ই〻 ∿㋩䀰 [Pure words of the Chengs of Henan], juan 1, “Lunxue pian” 䄆ᆨㇷ [Discussing learning]. See also their Chengshi yishu ⋣ই〻∿䚪ᴨ [Surviving writings of the Chengs of Henan], juan 2A, passage on “At yesterday’s gathering people mostly talked about Chan Buddhism.” Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 126. Cheng and Cheng, Henan Chengshi yishu, juan 21B. Cheng and Cheng, juan 2A. Huang Zongxi 哳ᇇ㗢, Mingru xuean ᰾݂ᆨṸ [Records of Ming Confucian scholars], juan 47, “Zhuru zhong zhi yi” 䄨݂ѝѻа [Miscellaneous scholars, 1]. For a detailed discussion, see Ying-shih Yü, “Morality and Knowledge in Chu Hsi’s Philosophical System,” in Chu Hsi and Neo- Confucianism, ed. Wing-tsit Chan (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1986), 228–54. Qisong, Tanjin wenji, juan 14, chap. 1, “Fei Han, shang” [Rebutting Han Yu, part 1]. Lu Xiangshan 䲨䊑ኡ, Xiangshan xiansheng quanji 䊑ኡ‫ޘ⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Complete works of Lu Jiuyuan], juan 36, “Nianpu” ᒤ䆌 [Chronology], entry under “the twenty-first year of the Shaoxing ㍩㠸 reign” (1151). Qisong, Tanjin wenji, juan 7. Max Weber, The Religion of China: Confucianism and Taoism, trans. and ed. Hans H. Gerth (New York: Free Press, 1964), 227–28; see also 152–54. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 4. Zhu Xi, juan 4. Chen Chun 䲣␣, Beixi ziyi ेⓚᆇ㗙 [Chen Chun on the meanings of terms], paragraph on “human nature.” Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 12. Zhu Xi, juan 13. Zhu Xi, juan 13. Zhu Xi, juan 13. See especially Zhu Xi, juan 59, “Mengzi jiu” ᆏᆀҍ [On Mencius, part 9], section on “The five grains are the best of all seeds.”

222

•

4. Establishing the “World of Heaven’s Principles”

26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

34. 35.

36.

Zhu Xi, juan 12. Zhu Xi, juan 4. Zhu Xi, juan 1. Zhu Xi, juan 1. Zhu Xi, juan 1. Dai Zhen, Mengzi ziyi shuzheng ᆏᆀᆇ㗙⮿䅹 [Commentaries on the meanings of terms in the Mencius], part 1, section on “principle.” Cheng and Cheng, Henan Chengshi waishu, juan 12. See Xunzi’s essay “Bu gou” н㤽 [Nothing indecorous], trans. John Knoblock, Xunzi, A Translation and Study of the Complete Works (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1988), vol. 1, book 3, pp. 151–81. Zhu Xi, Sishu jizhu ഋᴨ䳶䁫 [Collected commentaries on the four books], comments on the Great Learning. Wang Yangming, Chuanxi lu ۣ㘂䤴 [Instructions for practical living], part 1, no. 101; the numbering follows Wang Yangming Chuanxi lu xiangzhu jiping ⦻䲭᰾ۣ㘂䤴䂣䁫䳶䂅 [Detailed annotations and collected commentaries on Wang Yangming’s Instructions for Practical Living], ed. and ann. Wing-tsit Chan (Taipei: Xuesheng, 1983). We should understand Zhu’s proposition here in terms of his theory of principle and qi. The statement, “Heaven and Earth sets its mind on producing things,” refers to the operation of “principle.” However, since principle and qi do not exist independently of each other, and since the transformation of qi never comes even to a momentary rest, “Heaven and Earth” are indestructible. “This world,” however, comes principally under the direction of human beings; and in a situation where “qi is strong and principle is weak,” if “people lose all moral principles” and allow qi to operate against principle, the latter “can finally do nothing to snap it back around.” Consequently, the undirected movements of qi will destroy this world into an amorphous chaos, to the point where principle can no longer inhere. Thus, in the absence of principle, this world is bound to end in destruction. If the threat of nuclear war is a real one, Zhu Xi’s statement might become a terrible prophecy. The point of this part of the present discussion is to elucidate the philosophical basis underlying the new Confucian ethic and thus leaves open the question of the theoretical difficulties involved in the construction of such a basis.

5. “SERIOUSNESS PERVADING ACTIVITY AND TR ANQUILITY”

1. Cheng Hao 〻井 and Cheng Yi 〻乔, Henan Chengshi yishu ⋣ই〻∿䚪ᴨ [Surviving writings of the Chengs of Henan], juan 13. 2. Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩, Zhuzi yulei ᵡᆀ䃎于 [Classified conversations of Master Zhu Xi], ed. Li Jingde ᵾ䶆ᗧ, juan 126. [Shilin was Fan Gongcheng 㤳‫ޜ‬ち (1126–1158).] 3. Cheng and Cheng, Henan Chengshi yishu, juan 2A. 4. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 12, “Xue liu: chi shou” ᆨ‫ޝ‬: ᤱᆸ [On learning, part 6, perseverance].

5. “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility” • 223

5. Zhu Xi, juan 12. 6. Cheng and Cheng, Henan Chengshi yishu, juan 4. 7. Zhu Xi, Zhu Wengong xiansheng wenji ᵡ᮷‫⭏ݸޜ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Zhu Xi], juan 45, “Da Liao Zihui” diyi shu ㆄᔆᆀᲖㅜаᴨ [First letter in reply to Liao Zihui]. 8. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 12. 9. Zhang Zai ᕥ䔹, Zhangzi quanshu ᕥᆀ‫ޘ‬ᴨ [Complete writings of Zhang Zai], juan 12, “Yulu chao” 䃎䤴ᢴ [Recorded conversations transcribed]. 10. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 8. 11. See Lien-sheng Yang, “Schedules of Work and Rest in Imperial China,” in his Studies in Chinese Institutional History (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard-Yenching Institute, 1961), 26–27. This seminal essay discusses the industrious work habits of the various social classes in traditional China throughout the two millennia of its imperial history. 12. See Wang Zicai ⦻ểᶀ and Feng Yunhao 俞䴢☐, eds., Song Yuan xuean buyi ᆻ‫ݳ‬ᆨ Ṹ㼌䚪 [Addenda to the Records of Song and Yuan Scholars], juan 2, appendix to “Su xiansheng Song” 㰷‫⭏ݸ‬丼 [Teacher Su Song], in which Su “discoursed on precepts.” Zhu Xi held a very high opinion of Su Song; see his Zhu Wengong wenji, juan 77, “Su Chengxiang ci ji” 㰷ю⴨⾐䁈 [In commemoration of Prime Minister Su’s ancestral temple], as well as the three essays concerning the ancestral temple in juan 86. 13. Wang and Feng, Song Yuan xuean buyi, juan 2, appendix to “Culai menren” ᖲᗐ䮰Ӫ [Disciples of Shi Jie]. 14. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 121, “Xun menren jiu” 䁃䮰Ӫҍ [Instructing disciples, part 9]. 15. Zhu Xi, juan 121. 16. Zhu Xi, juan 120, “Xun menren ba” 䁃䮰Ӫ‫[ ޛ‬Instructing disciples, part 8]. 17. Zhu Wengong wenji, “Xu ji” 㒼䳶 [Further collection], juan 8, “Yu zhangzi shou zhi” 㠷䮧ᆀਇѻ [For my eldest son]. 18. Huang Zongxi, Mingru xuean, juan 1, “Chongren yi” ጷӱа [Chongren School, part 1]. 19. See Shao Bo 䛥ঊ, Shaoshi wenjian houlu 䛥∿㚎㾻ᖼ䤴 [Records of things seen and heard by Shao, a sequel], juan 22. 20. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 105. 21. See Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Allen & Unwin, 1976), 159–63, which may serve as a comparison with new Confucian perspectives; especially noteworthy is the statement by Richard Baxter, quoted on p. 265, n. 28. 22. Weber, Protestant Ethic, 157–58. 23. Both Cheng brothers laid emphasis on “abiding by one’s designated role” (shou benfen ᆸᵜ࠶) and “fulfilling [ones] role” (jin fen ⴑ࠶). See Cheng Hao 〻井 and Cheng Yi 〻乔, Henan Chengshi waishu ⋣ই〻∿ཆᴨ [Additional writings of the Chengs of Henan], juan 12, citing “Yin Heqing yu” ቩ઼䶆䃎 [Sayings of Yin Heqing].

224 • 5. “Seriousness Pervading Activity and Tranquility”

24. Max Weber, The Religion of China: Confucianism and Daoism, trans. and ed. Hans H. Gerth (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1951), 245. 25. Chen Fuliang 䲣‫ڵ‬㢟, Zhizhai xiansheng wenji →啻‫⭏ݸ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Chen Fuliang], juan 36, “Da Chen Tongfu” ㆄ䲣਼⡦ [First reply to Chen Liang]. On the dispute between Chen Liang and Zhu Xi, see Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, Utilitarian Confucianism: Ch’en Liang’s Challenge to Chu Hsi (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1982). 26. Weber, The Protestant Ethic, 121–22. 27. The idea of “seed people” (zhong min ぞ≁) in religious Daoism comes somewhat near to the concept of “chosen people” but remains considerably different. Confucius’s notion that “Heaven has endowed me with virtue” weakened in later times. Thus Wang Anshi ⦻ᆹ⸣ (1021–1086) once playfully recast Confucius’s statement as “Heaven has endowed me with darkness [of complexion]; what can the cilantro plant in the garden do for me?” See Wei Tai 兿⌠, Dongxuan bilu ᶡ䔂ㅶ䤴 [Jottings from the Eastern Balcony], juan 12, item 1. 28. For details about the “early awakened,” see Cheng and Cheng, Henan Chengshi yishu, juan 2A, paragraph discussing “the early awakened among Heaven’s subjects;” Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 130, “Ben chao si” ᵜᵍഋ [On the present dynasty, part 4], passage discussing Yi Yin’s Ժቩ statement on “the early awakened among Heaven’s subjects” in the paragraph beginning, “Being so intelligent, does [Su] Dongpo ᶡඑ not know it?” 29. Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teachings of the Christian Churches (London: Allen & Unwin, 1931), 2:588–89.

6. “REGARDING THE WORLD AS ONE’S RESPONSIBILITY”

1. Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩, Zhuzi yulei, ᵡᆀ䃎于 [Classified conversations of Master Zhu Xi], ed. Li Jingde ᵾ䶆ᗧ, juan 129, “Ben chao san” ᵜᵍй [On the present dynasty, part 3]. 2. Ouyang Wenzhonggong wenji ↀ䲭᮷ᘐ‫ޜ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Ouyang Xiu], juan 20, “Fangong shendao bei” 㤳‫⾎ޜ‬䚃⻁ [Tomb inscription for Fan Zhongyan]. 3. The phrase “regarding the world as his responsibility” is not found in Ouyang Xiu’s “Tomb Inscription for Fan Zhongyan” or in Zhu Xi’s Wuchao mingchen yanxing lu ӄ ᵍ਽㠓䀰㹼䤴 [Records of the words and deeds of prominent ministers of the five reigns], juan 7. Fan Zhongyan’s biography in Tuo-tuo’s 㝛㝛 Songshi ᆻਢ [History of the Song dynasty] asserts that Fan himself did use this expression, but Zhu Xi’s statement might have influenced that assertion. This point awaits further investigation. 4. Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teachings of Christian Churches, trans. Olive Wyon (London: Allen & Unwin, 1931), 2:617. 5. In his essay “Sōdai no shifū” ᆻԓȃ༛付 [The scholar ethos of the Song dynasty], in Ajia shi kenkyū ȪɀȪਢ⹄ウ [Asiatica studies in Oriental history], no.  4, 3rd  ed.

6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility” •

225

6.

7. 8. 9.

(Kyoto: Dōhōsha, 1980): 130–69, Miyazaki Ichisada ᇞጾᐲᇊ made a specific refutation of what he considered to be Zhu Xi’s idealization of the “scholar ethos” described in Zhu’s Wuchao mingchen yanxing lu. Miyazaki’s purpose in establishing the objective historical facts of the case is, of course, a perfectly legitimate one. However, his questioning of Fan Zhongyan based on the problematic Biyunxia ⻗䴢 偒 [Azure-cloud pony] (133–34) itself errs on the side of credulity, since it has been rebutted by Liu Zijian ࢹᆀ‫( ڕ‬1919–1993). See Liu’s essay “Mei Yaochen, Biyunxia yu Qingli zhengzheng zhong de shifeng” ẵ๟㠓 ⻗䴢偒 㠷ឦᳶ᭯⡝ѝⲴ༛付 [Mei Yaochen, Biyunxia and the scholar ethos reflected in the political dispute during the Qingli reign (1041–1048)], in Songshi yanjiuji ᆻਢ⹄ウ䳶 [Collected studies in Song history], 2d ser. (Taipei: Zhonghua congshu bianshen weiyuanhui, 1964), 141–55. Fan Zhongyan’s character might not have been “absolutely impeccable,” but it seems indisputable that the paradigm he established did exert a tremendous influence on the ethos of the time. As the Northern Song poet Huang Tingjian 哳ᓝี (1045–1105) attested: “Fan Zhongyan was a first-rate paragon among his contemporaries. Hence whenever I came across any of his correspondence at someone else’s home I never failed to admire it and longed ever more to meet him. After all, what is known as ‘being the first to worry about the troubles of the world and the last to enjoy its pleasures, was something he personally practiced in his daily life before it came to be recorded in words.” (See Huang’s Yuzhang Huang xiansheng wenji 䊛ㄐ哳 ‫⭏ݸ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Huang Tingjian], juan 30, “Ba Fan Wenzhenggong shi” 䏻㤳᮷↓‫ޜ‬䂙 [Postscript to the poetry of Fan Zhongyan]). Since Huang Tingjian was neither a new Confucian nor chronologically outside of Fan Zhongyan’s era, there should be reasonable grounds for his statement. While Miyazaki hoped to extricate himself from the “scholar-official’s view of history,” the materials on which he based his effort (like the Biyunxia) still came from the hands of scholar-officials. How, then, can one lay claim to “objective historical facts” based on a work that is at best a piece of isolated “evidence,” whose authorship moreover remains dubious? This is an inevitable, intrinsic shortcoming of the positivistic method. See Sun Guodong ᆛ഻Ἇ, “Tang Song zhi ji shehui mendi zhi xiaorong” ୀᆻѻ䳋⽮ᴳ 䮰ㅜѻ⎸㶽 [The dissolution of the prominent families in society: From the Tang to the Song], in his Tang Song shi luncong ୀᆻਢ䄆਒ [Collected essays on Tang and Song history] (Hong Kong: Longmen, 1980), 211–308. Yü Ying-shih, Zhongguo zhishi jieceng shilun ѝ഻⸕䆈䲾ኔਢ䄆 [Historical studies of the Chinese intellectual class] (Taipei: Lianjing, 1980), 214, n. 7. Arthur F. Wright, Buddhism in Chinese History (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1959), 93. See Zhu Xi, Wuchao mingchen yanxing lu, juan 7.2, quoting from Wei Tai’s 兿⌠ Dongxuan bilu ᶡ䔂ㅶ䤴 [Jottings from Eastern Balcony] and Jiang Shaoyu’s ⊏ቁ㲎 Songchao shishi leiyuan ᆻᵍһሖ于㤁 [Classified collection of facts about the Song dynasty], juan 7, which cited the Xiangshan yelu ⒈ኡ䟾䤴 [Unofficial records from the Xiang Mountain (Monastery)].

226 • 6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility”

10. Hong Mai ⍚䚱, Yijian zhi ཧีᘇ [Records of stories like those by Yijian], punctuated and collated by He Zhuo օঃ (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1981), zhigui ᭟Ⲩ juan 10, paragraph on “Guta zhu” ਔຄѫ [Master of the ancient tower], 3:1295–96. 11. Shen Kuo ⊸ᤜ, Mengxi bitan དྷⓚㅶ䃷 [Miscellaneous topics from the Mengxi Garden], ed. and ann. Hu Daojing 㜑䚃䶌 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1957), juan 11, item 204. 12. Fan Zhongyan 㤳Ԣ␩, Fan Wenzhenggong ji 㤳᮷↓‫ޜ‬䳶 [Collected works of Fan Zhongyan] (Wanyou wenku ed.), “Chi du” ቪ⢈ [Correspondence], latter juan, “Wenjian dashi” ᮷䪂བྷᑛ [Great monk Wenjian]. For a discussion of Fan Zhongyan’s relationship with Buddhism as well as how his management of the charitable estate of his clan was influenced by the permanent land endowments held by the Buddhist monastic communities (changzhu tian ᑨտ⭠), see Denis Twitchett, “The Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate, 1050–1760,” in Confucianism in Action, ed. David S. Nivison and Arthur F Wright (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1959), 97–133, esp. 102–5. 13. Huihong ᜐ⍚, Lengzhai yehua ߧ啻ཌ䂡 [Nocturnal talk from Chilly Studio] (Xuejin taoyuan ed.), juan 10, paragraph on “Sages were mostly born among the Confucians and Buddhists.” The text in the final line is corrupt and has been amended here in accordance with Ding Chuanjing’s бۣ䶆 Songren yishi huibian ᆻӪ䔬һᖉ㐘 [Collection of anecdotes about the Song people], juan 10. 14. See Wu Zeng ੣ᴮ, Nenggaizhai manlu 㜭᭩啻╛䤴 [Random records from Studio of the Correctible], juan 11, paragraph on “the prodigal monk.” 15. Huihong, Lengzhai yehua, juan 11, paragraph on “what kind of a man is Ouyang Xiu?” Wang Anshi lived at the Dinglin Monastery after his dismissal from premiership in 1076; see Hu Zai 㜑Ԅ, Tiaoxi yuyin conghua 㤅ⓚ┱䳡਒䂡 [Sayings collected by the Fisherman Recluse of Tiao Creek], vol. 1, juan 57, section on “Zanyuan” 䌺‫ݳ‬, quoting from the Chanlin sengbao zhuan ⿚᷇‫ܗ‬ሦۣ [Biographies of Chan monks]. It may be noted that there were two Dinglin Monasteries, and it was the lower one in which Wang Anshi resided; see Shen Qinhan ⊸Ⅽ七, Wang Jinggong shiwen, Shenshi zhu ⦻㥺‫ޜ‬䂙᮷⊸∿䁫 [Poetry and prose of Wang Anshi, annotated by Shen], juan 2, paragraph on the “Dinglin court,” quoting from Jiankang zhi ᔪᓧᘇ [Gazetteer of Jiankang]. 16. Huihong, Shimen wenzi Chan ⸣䮰᮷ᆇ⿚ [Poetry and prose writings by Huihong], juan 15. It is stated in Hu Zai’s Tiaoxi yuyin conghua: “The various anecdotes mentioned in the Lengzhai yehua are all fake.” See vol. 1, juan 37, section on “Yu Qinglao” ؎␵㘱, quoting from the Shixuan 䂙䚨 [Anthology of poetry]. However, the ones under consideration here do not seem problematic; see the discussion that follows. 17. See Wang Anshi, Linchuan xiansheng wenji 㠘ᐍ‫⭏ݸ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Wang Anshi], juan 73, “Da Zeng Zigu shu” ㆄᴮᆀപᴨ [Letter in reply to Zeng Gong]. 18. See Daoyuan’s Jingde chuandeng lu, juan 16; and Zanning’s Song gaoseng zhuan, juan 12. 19. Huihong, Shimen wenzi Chan, juan 24, “Song seng qishi xu” 䘱‫ܗ‬Ҏ伏ᒿ [Prefatory composition for the mendicancy of monks]. Huihong’s book also includes “Zhaomo Chanshi xu” ᱝ唈⿚ᑛᒿ [Prefatory composition to Chan Master Zhaomo], juan 23;

6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility” • 227

20. 21. 22.

23.

24.

therein is an explicit mention of “Chan Master Xuefeng Zhenjue,” which proves beyond dispute that the Xuefeng referred to was indeed Xuefeng Yicun. The Yunmen sect placed emphasis on all living sentient beings; for instance, Fuchang Zhixin ⾿᰼ ⸕ؑ (1030–1088) was renowned for his practice of inner-worldly asceticism in opening new farmland and tilling the fields. He once remarked, “All sages and worthies go through fire and water in order to bring to completion the limitless functioning of all sentient beings, and will not call themselves content if their wishes are left unfulfilled.” (See Huang Tingjian, Yuzhang Huang xiansheng wenji, juan 24, “Fuchang Zhixin Chanshi taming” ⾿᰼⸕ؑ⿚ᑛຄ䣈 [Stupa inscription for Chan Master Zhixin of Mount Fuchang]). Zhixin and Wang Anshi were contemporaries, so we may detect evidence in their statements of the convergence of Confucian and Buddhist elements. Wang Anshi, Linchuan wenji, juan 3, “Ti Banshansi bi ershou” 乼ॺኡሪ໱Ҽ俆. Wang Anshi, juan 37, “Wang Jiangnan guiyi sanbao zan” ᵋ⊏ই↨‫׍‬йሦ䌺 [Tune: “Gazing at the South”; in praise of entrusting to the Three Precious Ones]. Cai Shangxiang 㭑к㘄 (jinshi, 1761) vigorously defended Wang Anshi against various defamations (including an obsession with Buddhism) but could not deny that in his late years Wang was “fond of reading Buddhist books.” See Cai’s Wang Jinggong nianpu kaolue ⦻㥺‫ޜ‬ᒤ䆌㘳⮕ [Brief investigation of the chronology of Wang Anshi], juan 1, section 2. However, Cai makes no mention of the conversation recorded in the Lengzhai yehua. Wang Anshi said, “He may be called a spiritual man in terms of the Way he pursues, a sage in terms of his virtue, and a great man in terms of his vocation.” In addition, Wang remarked: “Thus the preoccupations of the spiritual man are with magnanimous virtue and a great vocation. . . . In this world, there are those . . . who consider virtue and vocation as humble undertakings that are inadequate for them to attain to the Way, or who think the highest achievement in pursuing the Way lies in becoming spiritual, and thus consequently relinquish their commitment to virtue and vocation and do not act. However, if all superior people relinquish their commitment to virtue and vocation and do not act, how will the myriad things be able to thrive?” (See Linchuan wenji, juan 66, “Daren lun” བྷӪ䄆 [On the great man]). These statements are extremely significant for they highlight Wang Anshi’s inner-worldly spirit. Although for him the “Way” “resides amid the void, the quiescent and the invisible” (“Daren lun”), his is not a Buddhist one that renounces and takes leave of this world but rather a Confucian one that faces it squarely. Hence pursuit of the “Way” must take the form of a concrete “vocation.” In his “Xishan yiwen” 㾯ኡ〫᮷ [Dispatch from West Mountain], Qisong wrote: “Changju 䮧⋞ and Jieni Ṱ⓪ are but rigid and narrow-minded people. Seeking only to cultivate and perfect themselves, without a heart worrying about the troubles of the world, they are not worthy of companionship. . . . Instead of pursuing the Way in the mountains and woods, why not realize it in the world? Rather than associating with apes and deer, why not cherish human relations, such as those between ruler and subject, father and son?” Two points are noteworthy in this essay: First, the

228 • 6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility”

25.

26.

27. 28. 29.

expression “worrying about the troubles of the world” (you tianxia ឲཙл) reminds us immediately of the famous motto of Fan Zhongyan, “A scholar must be the first to worry about the troubles of the world but the last to enjoy its pleasures.” As far as I can determine both men expressed the same notion in the 1040s and apparently independently of each other. It is indeed amazing that a Buddhist monk at the time appeared as concerned about the human world as a “scholar-official” was. Second, Qisong’s emphasis on the importance of human relations is clearly an elaboration of one of the best-known humanist principles laid down in Confucius’s Analects (18.6): “One cannot associate with birds and beasts. Am I not a member of the human race? Who, then, is there for me to associate with?” (D. C. Lau’s translation). Here Qisong’s profound interest in Confucian teachings is fully revealed. Little wonder that a century later the famous Chan Buddhist master Dahui Zonggao even went so far as to say, “Though I am a Buddhist, my love for the ruler and the country is the same as a loyal and righteous scholar-official.” (For more on Dahui Zonggao, see Qian Mu, Zhongguo xueshu sixiangshi luncong, 4:245–47.) I am quite confident that the two cases of Qisong and Dahui Zonggao are an indication that Buddhists in Song China were turning ever-increasingly to appreciate the values of Confucian humanism. This was due in no small measure, as I have shown elsewhere, to the important fact that they finally came to the realization that in order to spread the Buddhist message of the “other shore” effectively, they needed to begin making “this shore” wellordered. See my Zhu Xi de lishi shijie ᵡ⟩Ⲵ↧ਢц⭼ [Zhu Xi’s historical world] (Taipei: Asian Culture Press, 2003), 1:116–51, or the one-volume edition (Beijing: SDX Joint Publishing, 2011), 66–103. The movement for the “union of the Three Teachings” first germinated during the years of dynastic transition from the Song to the Yuan; see Shen Zengzhi ⊸ᴮἽ, Hairilou zhacong ⎧ᰕ⁃ᵝ਒ [Collected miscellanies from the Hairi Tower] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1962), juan 6, paragraph on “Sanjiao” йᮉ [Three Teachings], 258–59; Liu Tsun-yan and Judith A. Berling, “The ‘Three Teachings’ in the Mongol-Yuan Period,” in Yuan Thought: Chinese Thought and Religion Under the Mongols, ed. Hok-lam Chan and Wm. Theodore de Bary (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982), 479–512. The most influential syncretic movement was the one led by Lin Zhao’en (1517–1598) during the Ming. For details, see Judith  A. Berling, The Syncretic Religion of Lin Chao-en (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980). See Wang Qiu’s ⦻⨳ statement in Li Yanxiu’s ᵾᔦ༭ Nanshi ইਢ [History of the Southern Dynasties], juan 23. Fan Zhongyan, Fan Wenzhenggong ji, juan 1, “Simin shi” ഋ≁䂙 [Poem on the four categories of people]. See Kurt Samuelsson, Religion and Economic Action, trans. E. Geoffrey French (New York: Basic Books, 1961), chap. 2, according to which the Puritan ethic is anticapitalist. Moreover, according to the analysis of R. H. Tawney in his Religion and the Rise of Capitalism (Harmondsworth, Md.: Penguin Books, 1938), Weber’s discussion of Calvinism and the Protestant ethic represents an oversimplification of the real case

6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility” • 229

30. 31. 32. 33.

34. 35. 36.

(311–13). Thus, Tawney points out, “There was no formula which would gather Puritan aristocrats and Levelers, landowners and Diggers, merchants and artisans, buffcoat and his general, into the fold of a single social theory” (313). Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, juan 126. Zhang Zai ᕥ䔹, Zhangzi quanshu ᕥᆀ‫ޘ‬ᴨ [Complete writings of Zhang Zai], juan 6, “Yili” 㗙⨶ [Uprightness and principle]. Zhang Zai, juan 14, “Xingli shiyi” ᙗ⨶᤮䚪 [Additional sayings on nature and principle]. As is well known, Lu Xiangshan 䲨䊑ኡ accepted the guiding principles of the Great Learning and regarded the “investigation of things” as the point of entry in the human endeavor; see Xiangshan xiansheng quanji 䊑ኡ‫ޘ⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Complete works of Lu Jiuyuan], juan 2, “Xueshuo” ᆨ䃚 [Teachings], and juan 35, “Yulu xia” 䃎䤴л [Recorded conversations, part 2]. Similarly, Wang Yangming laid special emphasis on the Great Learning and provoked endless disputes among Confucians. Lu Xiangshan, quotations from juan 34 and juan 22, respectively. Troeltsch, Social Teachings of the Christian Churches, 590–92. Yü Ying-shih, “Qingdai xueshu sixiangshi zhongyao guannian tongshi” ␵ԓᆨ㺃ᙍᜣ ਢ䟽㾱㿰ᘥ䙊䟻 [Coherent explication of important concepts in Qing scholarly thinking], Shixue pinglun ਢᆨ䂅䄆 5 (January 1983), section on “jingshi zhiyong” ㏃ц㠤⭘, 32–45.

7. SIMIL ARITIES AND DIFFERENCES BETWEEN ZHU XI AND LU XIANGSHAN

1. Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩, Zhu Wengong xiansheng wenji ᵡ᮷‫⭏ݸޜ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Zhu Xi], juan 14, “Xing gong biandian zouzha er” 㹼ᇞ‫⇯ׯ‬ཿࢴҼ [Memorials submitted at the Resting Hall of the Emperor’s Itinerant Palace, no. 2]. 2. Lu Xiangshan 䲨䊑ኡ, Xiangshan xiansheng quanji 䊑ኡ‫ޘ⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Complete works of Lu Jiuyuan], juan 23, “Bailudong shuyuan jiangyi” ⲭ咯⍎ᴨ䲒䅋㗙 [Lecture on uprightness at the White Deer Grotto Academy]. In addition, a paragraph, “Henceforth, Fu Ziyuan ‫ڵ‬ᆀ␥ followed his [Lu’s] school of learning” (juan 34, “Yulu shang” [Recorded conversations, part 1]), also confirms that the “distinction between righteousness and profit” is a cardinal concept in Lu Xiangshan’s teaching, which was especially meant for the edification of scholars and officials. This distinction is simply another way of articulating his proposition for “recovering one’s original mind” or “first building up the nobler part of one’s nature.” 3. Lu Xiangshan, juan 23. 4. Lu Xiangshan, juan 34. 5. See Myron P. Gilmore, “Fides et erudition, Erasmus and the Study of History,” in his Humanists and Jurists: Six Studies in the Renaissance (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1963), 11. 6. Lu Xiangshan, Xiangshan xiansheng quanji, juan 36.

230 • 6. “Regarding the World as One’s Responsibility”

7. Lu Xiangshan, juan 36. See the Nianpu, under the eighth year of the Chunxi reign [1181]. 8. Lu Xiangshan, juan 36. See the Nianpu, under the third year of the Shaoxi reign [1192]. 9. Lu Xiangshan, juan 36. See the Nianpu, under the fifteenth year of the Chunxi reign [1188]). 10. Lu Xiangshan, juan 36. 11. For Lu’s criticism of Zhu, see Lu Xiangshan, juan 34. For Luther’s view of Erasmus, see E. Harris Harbison, The Christian Scholar in the Age of the Reformation (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1956), chap. 4. 12. Lu Xiangshan, juan 28, “Song gu Lugong muzhi” ᆻ᭵䲨‫ޜ‬ໃ䂼 [Tomb inscription for the late Mr. Lu of the Song dynasty]. 13. Lu Xiangshan, juan 34. 14. Zhu Xi ᵡ⟩, Zhuzi yulei ᵡᆀ䃎于 [Classified conversations of Master Zhu Xi], juan 13, “Xun menren yi” 䁃䮰Ӫа [Instructing disciples, 1]. 15. For a comprehensive study of this topic, see Ying-shih Yü, “Reorientation of Confucian Social Thought in the Age of Wang Yangming,” in his Chinese History and Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016), 1:273–320. 16. Wang Yangming, Wang Wenchenggong quanshu ⦻᮷ᡀ‫ޘޜ‬ᴨ [Complete writings of Wang Yangming], juan 32, “Nianpu” [Chronology], under the fifth year of the Hongzhi ᕈ⋫ reign (1492); and his Chuanxi lu ۣ㘂䤴 [Instructions for practical living], sec. 318. 17. Wang Yangming, Wang Wenchenggong quanshu, juan 32, “Nianpu,” under the third year of the Zhengde ↓ᗧ reign [1508]. 18. See Wang Yangming, Chuanxi lu, secs. 142–43, “Baben seyuan lun” ᤄᵜຎⓀ䄆 [The doctrine of pulling up the root and stopping up the source]. 19. Wang Yangming, sec. 313. 20. Wang Yangming, sec. 319. 21. Huang Zongxi 哳ᇇ㗢, Mingru xuean ᰾݂ᆨṸ [Records of Ming Confucian scholars], juan 32. 22. Sebastian Franck’s statement is found in Max Weber, General Economic History, trans. Frank H. Knight (New York: Free Press, 1927), 366. A contemporary of Luther, Franck had no wish either to construct any theory or to rely on the church but instead focused on expounding the “spirit,” which he believed to be intrinsic in every person. He advocated a kind of “invisible church” that shares considerable affinity to the teachings of Chan Buddhists, as well as those of Lu Xiangshan and Wang Yangming, and may be considered to have offered an “inner transcendence” model within the sphere of Christianity. This is perhaps why it never managed to establish a firm foothold in the mainstream tradition of “external transcendence.” See also Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, trans. Olive Wyon, 2 vols. (London: Allen & Unwin, 1931), 760–62. 23. Jiao Xun ❖ᗚ, Diaogu ji 䴅㨠䳶 [Collected writings from the Diaogu Mansion], juan 8, “Liangzhi lun” 㢟⸕䄆 [On the innate knowledge of the good].

7. Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan •

231

24. Huang Zongxi, Mingru xuean, respectively, juan 32 and 34. 25. Wang Yangming, Chuanxi lu shiyi ۣ㘂䤴᤮䚪 [Addenda to the Instructions for Practical Living], sec. 14. 26. Zhang Youqu ᕥ৸㮆, Kezi suibi 䃢ᆀ䳘ㅶ, juan 2, was quoted; see Ke Jianzhong ḟᔪ ѝ, “Shilun Mingdai shangye ziben yu zibenzhuyi mengya de guanxi” 䂖䄆᰾ԓ୶ᾝ䋷 ᵜ㠷䋷ᵜѫ㗙㨼㣭Ⲵ䰌‫[ ײ‬On the relationship between commercial capital and the germination of capitalism during the Ming dynasty], in Zhongguo zibenzhuyi mengya wenti taolunji, xubian ѝ഻䋷ᵜѫ㗙㨼㣭୿乼䀾䄆䳶㒼㐘 [Collected studies on the question of the germination of capitalism in China, further collection], comp. Nanjing daxue: Zhongguo gudaishi jiaoyanshi ইӜབྷᆨ: ѝ഻ਔԓਢ᭾⹿ᇔ [Nanjing University’s Room for Teaching and Research on Ancient Chinese History] (Beijing: Sanlian, 1960), 101. Especially deserving of our attention is the case of a merchant Huang Chongde 哳ጷᗧ (1469–1537), whose business career was described in the “Ming gu Jinzhu Huang gong Chongdegong xingzhuang” ᰾᭵䠁ㄪ哳‫ޜ‬ጷᗧ‫ޜ‬㹼⣰ [Life deeds of the late Huang Chongde of Jinzhu of the Ming dynasty], in Shutang Huangshi zongpu ⮾ຈ哳∿ᇇ䆌 [Genealogical records of the Huang family of Shutang], juan 5 (She district ↉㑓 ed., published in the forty-fifth year of the Jiaqing reign, 1566). The composition runs: “Originally he had intended to prepare for the examinations, but his father, Huang Wenshang 哳᮷㼣, told him, ‘The learning of Lu Xiangshan takes the securing of one’s livelihood as its first priority.’ Understanding his father’s message, Chongde brought his capital to Qidong district where he launched his business. . . . A year’s labor brought him a 10 percent profit, which soon rose to double his capital, and he became a great merchant. Then concentrating his efforts and consolidating his flourishing business, he took up the salt trade in Huaihai Prefecture and, managing his enterprise in the same manner as he did when he was in Qidong, amassed a fortune in due course. . . . His business was just a matter of commissioning the right people and adapting to the right season. Following a proper and clean-handed way of making transactions, he managed his business without thinking of it as business and without setting his mind on squeezing the last ounce of profit, like a greedy merchant does; nevertheless, his assets grew steadily until he became the richest man in his neighborhood. . . . He took great delight in doing good works in his area, and he brought benefit to his fellow villagers and townsmen. Someone like him is not only an honest merchant but veritably a merchant in name and a Confucian scholar in conduct!” (Quoted from Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Wang Tingyuan ⦻ᔧ‫ݳ‬, eds., Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian ᰾␵ᗭ୶䋷ᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of materials on the Huizhou merchants of the Ming and Qing] [Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1985], 74–75, item 231.) This passage is valuable because it not only provides us with an early instance of the growing social tendency to “give up one’s scholarly career to become a merchant” but also, more significantly, demonstrates the relationship between merchants and Lu Xiangshan’s learning. Since Huang Chongde and Wang Yangming were contemporaries, Wang’s school of learning had not even emerged when Huang’s father said, “The learning of Lu Xiangshan

232

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7. Between Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan

takes the securing of a livelihood as its first priority,” which shows that Lu Xiangshan’s merchant family background was something that had already caught the attention of the literati before the mid-Ming. This fact not only helps to illuminate the social background of the subsequent rise of Wang Yangming’s school of learning but also enables us to understand why Wang Yangming’s disciples repeatedly raised the question of “securing one’s livelihood” with him, as well as why Wang himself eventually had to modify his viewpoint. We shall take up the question of “securing one’s livelihood” in detail in part III.

8. MING AND QING CONFUCIANS’ VIEW OF “SEC URING A LIVELIHOOD”

1. Shen Yao ⊸༥, Luofanlou wenji ⍋ᐶ⁃᮷䳶 [Collected literary works from the Lowered-Sail Dwelling], juan 24, “Fei Xishan xiansheng qishi shuangshou xu” 䋫ᑝኡ ‫⭏ݸ‬гॱ䴉༭ᒿ [Prefatory composition written on the seventieth birthday of Mr. Fei Xishan]. 2. Fu Yiling ‫ڵ‬㺓߼, Ming Qing shidai shangren ji shangye ziben ᰾␵ᱲԓ୶Ӫ৺୶ᾝ䋷ᵜ [Merchants and commercial capital during the Ming and Qing periods] (Beijing: Renmin, 1956), 41–42, n. 1; Ping-ti Ho, The Ladder of Success in Imperial China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), 50–51; Lien-sheng Yang, “Government Control of Urban Merchants in Traditional China,” in his Sinological Studies and Reviews (Taipei: Shihua, 1982), 32. 3. For a discussion of Shen Yao’s life as a poor scholar, see Shen Zengzhi’s ⊸ᴮἽ “Xu” [Preface] included at the beginning of his Luofanlou wenji, and Sun Xie’s ᆛ⠞ “Shen Zidun aici” ⊸ᆀᮖ૰䗝 [Elegiac address to Shen Yao] included at the end of it. On Shen Yao’s thought and social criticism, see Qian Mu 䥒ぶ, Zhongguo jin sanbai nian xueshu shi ѝ഻䘁йⲮᒤᆨ㺃ਢ [An intellectual history of China in the last three hundred years] (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1937), 555–63. 4. Shen Yao, Luofanlou wenji, juan 9, “Yu Xu Haiqiao” 㠷䁡⎧⁥. Xu Heng’s teachings regarding “securing a livelihood” may be found in Huang Zongxi 哳ᇇ㗢, Song Yuan xuean ᆻ‫ݳ‬ᆨṸ [Records of Song and Yuan scholars], juan 90, quoting from Xu Heng 䁡㺑, Luzhai yishu 冟啻䚪ᴨ [Surviving works of Xu Heng]. The term zhisheng came from the “Huozhi liezhuan” 䋘⇆ࡇۣ [Biographies of the moneymakers], in Sima Qian’s ਨ俜䚧 Shiji ਢ䁈 [Records of the grand historian], and originally referred to the management of a business. 5. Tang Zhen ୀ⬴, Qian shu ▋ᴨ [Book to be hidden], shang pian xia кㇷл, “Yang zhong” 伺䟽 [Cultivating the weighty]. 6. Shechun Fangshi huizong tongpu ↉␣ᯩ∿ᴳᇇ㎡䆌 [Consolidated genealogy of the Fang clan of Shechun District], juan 19, “Fangjun Zhongmao xingzhuang” ᯩੋѝ㤲㹼 ⣰ [The life and deeds of Fang Zhongmao], quoted in Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Wang Tingyuan ⦻ᔧ‫ݳ‬, eds., Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian ᰾␵ᗭ୶䋷ᯉ䚨㐘

8. Ming and Qing Confucians’ View •

233

7.

8. 9. 10.

11. 12.

13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

[Selected compilation of materials on the Huizhou merchants of the Ming and Qing dynasties] (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1985), p. 417, item 1291. Quan Zuwang ‫⾆ޘ‬ᵋ, Jieqiting ji 凊ฬӝ䳶 [Collected works from the Jieqi Pavilion], wai bian ཆ㐘 [Additional collection], juan 8, “Xian zhongfu boshi fujun quancuo zhi” ‫ݸ‬Ԣ⡦ঊ༛ᓌੋ℺্ᘇ [Obituary written on the temporary burial of my late erudite uncle]. Qian Daxin 䥒བྷ᱅, Shijiazhai yangxin lu ॱ倅啻伺ᯠ䤴 [Ten-Harnessed Studio’s record of self-renewal], juan 18. Shen Yao, Luofanlou wenji, juan 9, “letter to Xu Haiqiao.” Chen Que 䲣⻪, Chen Que ji 䲣⻪䳶 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1979), “Wenji” [Literary works], juan 5, “Lun xuezhe yi zhizheng wei ben” 䄆ᆨ㘵ԕ⋫⭏⛪ᵜ [On securing livelihood as the basis of learning]. Chen Que, Chen Que ji, bieji ࡕ䳶, juan 2, “guyan yi” ⷭ䀰 1. See Dai Zhen’s ᡤ䴷 Mengzi ziyi shuzheng ᆏᆀᆇ㗙⮿䅹 (Commentaries on the meaning of terms in the Mencius). Early Qing scholars were no longer satisfied with Wang Yangming’s sharp bifurcation between “preserving Heaven’s principle and eliminating human desire” (cunli quyu ᆈ⨶৫Ⅲ). One interesting argument said, “A person is born with ears, eyes, mouth, and body, so there is no way to eliminate them,” which was quoted and discussed in Mao Qiling ∋ཷ喑 (1623–1716), Xihe wenji 㾯⋣᮷䳶 [Mao’s collected works from the West River] (Taipei: Taiwan Commercial Press, 1968), 10:1546, “Zheke bianxue wen” ᣈᇒ䗘ᆨ᮷. Chen Que, Chen Que ji, “Wenji” [Literary works], juan 11, “Shuo” 䃚 [Discourse]. Gu Yanwu 亗⚾↖, Gu Tinglin shiwenji 亗ӝ᷇䂙᮷䳶 [Collected prose and poetry of Gu Yanwu] (Beijing: Zhonghua), “junxian lun wu” 䜑㑓䄆ӄ. Gu Yanwu, Yuanchao Rizhilu ৏ᢴᰕ⸕䤴 [Original handwritten copy of the Record of Daily Knowledge] (Taipei: Minglun Press, 1970), 68. Hao Chang, Liang Ch’i-ch’ao and the Intellectual Transition in China, 1890–1907 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971), 195. For the changing views of various polarities in Confucian ethic during the MingQing transition, see my “Reorientation of Confucian Social Thought in the Age of Wang Yangming,” in Ying-shih Yü, Chinese History and Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016), esp. 1:305–13. For studies of the polarity of “common good versus self-interest,” see two articles by Mizoguchi Yūzō Ⓧਓ䳴й: “Chūgoku ni okeru kō shi gainen no tenkai” ѝഭȀǟǦȠ‫ޜ‬ǃ⿱ᾲᘥȃኅ䮻 [Development of the concepts of the public good and self-interest in China], Shisō ᙍᜣ 669 (March 1980): 19–38; and “Chūgoku no kō shi” ѝഭȃ‫[ ⿱ޜ‬Chinese common good and self-interest], Bungaku ᮷ᆖ 56 (September 1988): 85–102, and 56 (October 1988): 73–84. However, for Chen Liang’s 䲣Ӟ (1143–1194) advocacy of a similar view during the Song, see also Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, Utilitarian Confucianism: Ch’en Liang’s Challenge to Chu Hsi (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press), and especially Ch’en Liang on Public Interest and the Law (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1994).

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9. A NEW THEORY OF THE FOUR CATEGORIES OF PEOPLE

1. Wang Yangming ⦻䲭᰾, Wang Yangming quanshu ⦻䲭᰾‫ޘ‬ᴨ [Complete writings of Wang Yangming], juan 25, “Jiean Fanggong mubiao” ㇰ㨤ᯩ‫ޜ‬ໃ㺘 [Tomb inscription of Fang Lin]. 2. For instance, see Wang’s Chuanxi lu ۣ㘂䤴 [Instructions for practical living], sec. 142, “Baben seyuan lun” ᤄᵜຎⓀ䄆. 3. Wang Yangming quanshu, juan 7, “Chongxiu Shanyin xianxue ji” 䟽‫؞‬ኡ䲠㑓ᆨ䁈 [In commemoration of the reconstruction of the district school at Shanyin]. 4. Li Yong ᵾ亂, Erqu ji: Guan’gan lu Ҽᴢ䳶g㿰ᝏ䤴 [Record of impressions, from the collected works of Li Yong], paragraph on “Xinzhai xiansheng” ᗳ啻‫[ ⭏ݸ‬Teacher Wang Gen], quoting toward the end of it from the Wang Yi’an xiansheng yulu ⦻а㨤 ‫⭏ݸ‬䃎䤴 [Recorded conversations of teacher Wang Dong]. It may also be noted that there are minor verbal discrepancies in the corresponding paragraph quoted in Huang’s Mingru xuean ᰾݂ᆨṸ [Records of Ming Confucian scholars], juan 32, “Taizhou xuean” ⌠ᐎᆨṸ [Records of the Taizhou School]. 5. Shimada Kenji ጦ⭠㲄⅑, Chūgoku ni okeru kindai shi-i no zazetsu ѝഭȀǟǦȠ䘁ԓᙍ ᜏȃᥛᣈ [The frustration of modern thinking in China] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1970), 246–48. 6. Gui Youguang ↨ᴹ‫ݹ‬, Zhenchuan xiansheng ji 䴷ᐍ‫⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Collected works of Gui Youguang], juan 13, “Bai’an Chengweng bashishou xu” ⲭ㨤〻㗱‫ॱޛ‬༭ᒿ [Prefatory composition written on the eightieth birthday of Cheng Bai’an]. 7. See the Wangshi tong zongpu, juan 26, “Honghao Nanshan xingzhuang” ᕈ㲏ইኡ㹼⣰, quoted in Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Wang Tingyuan ⦻ᔧ‫ݳ‬, eds., Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian ᰾␵ᗭ୶䋷ᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of materials on the Huizhou merchants of the Ming and Qing] (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1985), p. 440, item 1334. See also Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Tang Lixing ୀ࣋㹼, “Lun Huishang ‘gu er hao ru’ de tese” 䄆ᗭ୶ “䋸㘼ྭ݂” Ⲵ⢩㢢 [On the Huizhou businessmen’s characteristic “affinity for Confucian conduct as merchants”], Zhongguoshi yanjiu ѝ഻ਢ⹄ウ 4 (1984): 68. 8. Li Mengyang ᵾདྷ䲭, Kongtong xiansheng ji オ਼‫⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Collected works of Li Mengyang], juan 44, “Ming gu Wang Wenxian muzhiming” ᰾᭵⦻᮷亟ໃᘇ䣈 [Epitaph for the late Wang Wenxian of the Ming]. 9. See Yoshikawa Kojirō ਹᐍᒨ⅑䛾 (1904–1980), “Ri Muyō no ichisokumen—kobunji no shominsei” ᵾདྷ䲭ȃа‫ڤ‬䶒——ਔ᮷䗝ȃᓦ≁ᙗ [Sidelight to Li Mengyang—the popular nature of his ancient style writings], in Ritsumeikan bungaku (Hashimoto Jun sensei koki kinen tokushū) ・ભ佘Ӫ᮷ᆨ(⁻ᵜᗚ‫⭏ݸ‬ਔ〰㌰ᘥ⢩䕟) [Special edition in commemoration of the seventieth birthday of Mr.  Hashimoto Jun], no.  180 (June 1960): 190–208. 10. Li Mengyang, Kongtong xiansheng ji, juan 58. 11. For a discussion of the background of Wang Daokun, see Fujii Hiroshi 㰔Ӆᆿ, “Shin’an shōnin no kenkyū” ᯠᆹ୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A study of the Xin’an merchants],

9. A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

235

12.

13. 14.

15. 16.

17.

18.

19. 20.

21.

22. 23.

part 2, Tōyō gakuhō ᶡ⌻ᆨ๡ 36, no. 2 (September 1953): 42–43; part 3, Tōyō gakuhō 36, no. 3 (December 1953): 66–71. Wang Daokun ⊚䚃ᰶ, Taihan ji ཚ࠭䳶 [Collected works of Wang Daokun], juan 55, “Gao zeng Fengzhi dafu Hubu yuanwailang Chenggong ji zeng yiren Minshi hezang muzhiming” 䃕䌸ཹⴤབྷཛᡦ䜘଑ཆ䛾〻‫ޜ‬᳘䌸ᇌӪ䯄∿ਸ㪜ໃᘇ䣈 [Epitaph written on the burial of Mr. Cheng, posthumously honored grand master for forthright service and vice bureau director of the Ministry of Revenue, together with his wife, née Min, Lady of Suitability]. Wangshi tong zongpu, juan 168, quoted in Zhang and Wang, Ming- Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, 439, sec. 1342. Ouyang Xiu ↀ䲭‫؞‬, Ouyang Wenzhonggong wenji ↀ䲭᮷ᘐ‫ޜ‬᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Ouyang Xiu], juan 63, “Xiangtan xian xiu Yaoshiyuan Fodian ji” ⒈▝㑓‫؞‬ 㰕ᑛ䲒֋⇯䁈 [In commemoration of the renovation of the Buddha Hall and Bhaiṣajyaguru Vaidūryaprabha’s Court in Xiangtan District], i.e., the court of the Medicine Buddha. He Xinyin օᗳ䳡, He Xinyin ji օᗳ䳡䳶 [Collected works of He Xinyin], juan 3. Yun Jing ᜢᮜ, Dayunshanfang wengao བྷ䴢ኡᡯ᮷は [Literary drafts from the Great Clouds Mountain Studio], “Chuji” ࡍ䳶 [First collection], juan 2, “Du huozhi liezhuan” 䆰䋘⇆ࡇۣ [On reading the biographies of the money-makers]. Li Weizhen ᵾ㏝ᾘ, Dabishanfang ji བྷ⋼ኡᡯ䳶 [Collected works from the Dabi Mountain Studio], juan 106, “Xiang jijiu Wanggong mubiao” 䜹⾝䞂⦻‫ޜ‬ໃ㺘 [Tomb inscription for provincial libationer Wang]. Han Bangqi 七䛖ཷ, Wanlo ji 㧰⍋䳶 [Collected works of Han Bangqi], juan 6, “Da Ming Xijun muzhiming” བྷ᰾ᑝੋໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for Mr.  Xi of the great Ming dynasty]. The two foregoing passages are also discussed in Terada Takanobu ሪ⭠䲶 ؑ, Sansei shōnin no kenkyū ኡ㾯୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A study of the Shanxi merchants] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1972), 286–93. Gui Zhuang ji ↨㦺䳶 [Collected works of Gui Zhuang], juan 6, “Chuan Yanzhai ji” ۣ⺟啻䁈 (An account of the transmission of the inkstone). See Quan Zuwang ‫⾆ޘ‬ᵋ, Jieqiting ji 凊ฬӝ䳶 [Collected works from the Jieqi Pavilion], juan 12, “Tinglin xiansheng shendao biao” ӝ᷇‫⾎⭏ݸ‬䚃㺘 [Tomb inscription for Gu Yanwu]. See Lü Liuliang ੲ⮉㢟, Lü Wancun wenji ੲᲊᶁ᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Lü Liuliang], photocopy ed. (Taipei: Commercial Press, 1973), juan 2, “Fu Jiang Rugao shu” ᗙဌ⊍儈ᴨ [Letter in reply to Jiang Rugao]. Zhu Shunshui ᵡ㡌≤ (1600–1682) also “traded and associated with various merchants” while he was in Japan; see Zhu Shunshui ji ᵡ㡌≤䳶 [Collected works of Zhu Shunshui] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1981), juan 7, “Da Andong shouyue shu” ㆄᆹᶡᆸ㌴ᴨ [Letter in reply to Andong’s keeping his word about contracts], no. 4, p. 175. Zhu Yizun ᵡᖍሺ, Pushuting ji ᴍᴨӝ䳶 [Collected works from the Pushu Pavilion], juan 72. Yao Nai ည啀, Xibaoxuan ji ᜌᣡ䔂䳶 [Collected works from the Xibao Studio], juan 13, “Baojun muzhiming” 凁ੋໃᘇ䣈 [Epitaph for Mr. Bao].

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24. In the appendix to his The Ladder of Success in Imperial China, Ping-ti Ho cited the case of Jiang Guomao ⊏഻㤲, a native of She district. Jiang was a government student (shengyuan ⭏଑) of the late Ming period and took up the salt trade in Yangzhou after the dynastic change. I suspect Jiang’s switch of vocation was due to the yimin 䚪≁ motivation of loyalty rather than “because he anticipated that the change of dynasty would offer him golden opportunities to become rich” (287). The most moving case among Ming loyalist merchants was Shen Baiwu ⊸Ⲯӄ, a native of Chongming Islands; the story of his life can be found in Qian Yong 䥒⌣, Lüyuan conghua ንൂ਒ 䂡 [Collected talks from the Lü Garden], juan 1, passage on “Shen Baiwu.” 25. Quoted in Xie Guozhen 䅍഻ᾘ, Mingdai shehui jingji shiliao xuanbian ᰾ԓ⽮ᴳ㏃☏ ਢᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of historical materials on Ming society and economy] (Fujian: Renmin, 1981), 2:113. 26. Zhang Han ᕥ♊, Songchuang mengyu ᶮデདྷ䃎 [Dream talk from the Pine Window], juan 4, “Shanggu ji” ୶䋸䁈 [Story of the merchants]. 27. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 54, “Ming gu chushi Xiyang Wu Changgong muzhiming” ᰾᭵㲅༛䉯䲭੣䮧‫ޜ‬ໃᘇ䣈 [Epitaph for Wu Changgong of Xiyang, late hermit of the Ming dynasty]. 28. Wang Daokun, juan 77, “Jingyuan ji” 㥺ൂ䁈 [Record of Bramble Garden]. 29. See Ming Chongzhen ጷ⾾ (r. 1622–1644) erke Ҽ࡫ [second carved block] edition, juan 37, quoted in Fujii Hiroshi, “Shin’an shōnin no kenkyū,” part 4, Tōyō gakuhō 36, no. 4 (March 1954): 117. 30. See Yongzheng zhupi yuzhi 䳽↓⹳ᢩ䄝ᰘ [Emperor Yongzheng’s imperial remarks and decrees], ce ޺ 47, “Liu Yuyi, 2nd  year of the Yongzheng reign, 9th  day of 5th month” entry. 31. See Ye Sheng 㩹ⴋ, Shuidong riji ≤ᶡᰕ䁈 [Diaries completed east of the Song River], juan 15, paragraph on the “Family precepts of Lu You.” 32. Lu You 䲨⑨, Weinan wenji ⑝ই᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Lu You], juan 21, “Dongyang Chenjun yizhuang ji” ᶡ䲭䲣ੋ㗙㦺䁈 [Story of the charitable estate of Mr. Chen of Dongyang]. 33. Yuan Cai 㺱䟷, Yuanshi shifan 㺱∿цㇴ [Paradigms of conduct for the Yuan family through the ages], part 2, section on “Descendants Should Pursue the Undertakings of a Confucian Scholar.” 34. For details, see Ho, Ladder. For instance, while there were 24,594 jinshi degrees granted during the Ming dynasty, the 26,747 degrees granted during the Qing dynasty registered only a minimal increase over the Ming figure. It was already apparent in the sixteenth century: “While one out of ten scholars will attain success, nine out of ten merchants will,” a realization that persuaded some jinshi candidates to give up their studies and join the business world. See the Nanfeng zhi ই䊀ᘇ [Gazetteer of Nanfeng district], vol. 5, “Baisuiweng zhuang” Ⲯ↢㗱⣰ [The life and deeds of the centenarian], in Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, 251, sec. 788. 35. Shigeta Atsushi 䟽⭠ᗣ, Shindai shakai keizaishi kenkyū ␵ԓ⽮Պ㍼␸ਢ⹄ウ [A study of the social and economic history of the Qing dynasty] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1975), 294–349.

9. A New Theory of the Four Categories of People •

237

36. See Terada Takanobu, Sansei shōnin no kenkyū, 291–93. 37. See Xu Daling 䁡བྷ喑, Qingdai juanna zhidu ␵ԓᦀ㌽ࡦᓖ [The contribution system of the Qing dynasty], Yanjing xuebao ⠅Ӝᆨ๡, special issue, no. 22, 1950. Those making donations and contributions were mostly rich merchants, as may be seen in the statements by Wang Shizhen ⦻༛⾾ and Lu Longqi 䲨䳤ަ quoted on 36, 136. 38. Hong Liangji ⍚Ӟਹ, Gengshengzhai wenjiaji ᴤ⭏啻᮷⭢䳶 [Literary writings from the Renewed-Life Studio, first collection], juan 4, “You shu sanyou yishi” ৸ᴨй৻䚪һ [Writing again on the deeds of three deceased friends]. 39. The Tian family was registered in the Mengda beilu 㫉䷳‫ۉ‬䤴 [Records of the Mongols for reference] and studied by Wang Guowei ⦻഻㏝ in his Heida shilue jianzheng 唁䷳һ⮕ㆻ䅹 [Commentary and evidence on the Brief Account of the Affairs of the Black Tartars]. On Alaowading and his brother, see Dai Liang’s ᡤ㢟 Jiulingshanfang ji ҍ䵸ኡᡯ䳶 [Collected works from the Jiuling Mountain Studio], juan 19, “Gaoshi zhuan” 儈༛ۣ [Biographies of lofty recluses]. Also see Meng Siming 㫉ᙍ᰾, Yuandai shehui jieji zhidu ‫ݳ‬ԓ⽮ᴳ䲾㍊ࡦᓖ [The class system in Yuan society], rev. ed. (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1980), 90–91, 146–52. For a discussion of the social status of Confucian scholars during the Yuan dynasty, see Xiao Qiqing 㮝ஏឦ, “Yuandai de ruhu: rushi diwei yanjin shi shang de yizhang” ‫ݳ‬ԓⲴ݂ᡦ˖݂༛ൠս╄䙢ਢкⲴаㄐ [Confucian households during the Yuan dynasty: A chapter in the history of evolution of the status of Confucian scholars], in his Yuandaishi xintan ‫ݳ‬ԓਢᯠ᧒ [New explorations into the history of the Yuan dynasty] (Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 1983), 1–58. 40. Yao Sui ည⠗, Muan ji ⢗㨤䳶 [Collected works of Yao Sui], juan 15. 41. Dai Liang, Jiulingshanfang ji, juan 23, “Xuanyi chushi Xiajun muzhiming” ⦴䙨㲅༛༿ ੋໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for Mr. Xia, profound and leisurely hermit]. 42. Yang Weizhen ὺ㏝ᾘ, Dongweizi wenji ᶡ㏝ᆀ᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Yang Weizhen], juan 25, “Xiaoyou xiansheng Qin gong muzhiming” ᆍ৻‫ޜ〖⭏ݸ‬ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for Mr. Qin Xiaoyou]. 43. Yang Weizhen, “Yanshang xing” 咭୶㹼 [Song of the salt merchants]. 44. Xu Guangqi ᗀ‫ݹ‬ஏ, Nongzheng quanshu 䗢᭯‫ޘ‬ᴨ [Encyclopedia of agricultural policies], juan 3. 45. For a discussion of commercial activities during the pre-Qin period, see Cho-yun Hsu, Ancient China in Transition (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1965); for those during the Qin-Han period, see Ying-shih Yü, Trade and Expansion in Han China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966).

10. MERCHAN TS AND CONFUCIAN LEARNING

1. For details, see Terada Takanobu ሪ⭠䲶ؑ, Sansei shōnin no kenkyū ኡ㾯୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A study of the Shanxi merchants] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1972), chap. 6. 2. Xie Guozhen 䅍഻ᾘ, Ming Qing biji congtan ᰾␵ㅶ䁈਒䃷 [Collected reflections on the literary notations of the Ming-Qing period] (Shanghai: Guji, 1981), 354–55.

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3. Ye Sheng 㩹ⴋ, Shuidong riji ≤ᶡᰕ䁈 [Diaries completed east of the Song River], juan 21, paragraph on “Xiaoshuo xiwen” ሿ䃚ᡢ᮷ [Fiction and dramatic texts]. 4. Liu Xianting ࢹ⦫ᔧ, Guangyang zaji ᔓ䲭䴌䁈 [Miscellaneous sketches by Liu Xianting], juan 2. 5. For a discussion of the factual background of Ming fiction, see Du Lianzhe ᶌ㚟ஶ, “Mingren xiaoshuoji dangdai qiwen benshi juli” ᰾Ӫሿ䃚䁈⮦ԓཷ㚎ᵜһ㠹ֻ [Some examples of Ming fiction as records of unusual happenings and original incidents of its time], Tsinghua Journal of Chinese Studies, New Series, 7, no.  2 (August  1969): 156–75. For textual research into the story of Shi Runze, see E-tu Zen Sun, “Frugality and Wealth in a Ming Tale,” in her Selected Essays in Chinese Economic History (Taipei: Xuesheng, 1981), 183–91. The story of Old Servant Xu was based on Tian Rucheng’s ⭠⊍ᡀ “Aji zhuan” 䱯ᇴۣ [Biography of Aji] (Shuofu 䃚䜋 [Outer walls of popular teachings] ed.). It was probably due to Li Zhi’s ᵾ䌴 commendation that this story came to be widely known; see his Fenshu ❊ᴨ [Book to be burned], juan 5, “Aji zhuan.” For a discussion of the life and thought of Feng Menglong and Ling Mengchu, see Patrick Hanan, The Chinese Vernacular Story (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), chaps. 4 and 7. The merchants’ penchant for fiction and drama developed early into a tradition. During the Daoguang 䚃‫ ݹ‬reign (1821–1850), a merchant of Yi district, Shu Zungang 㡂䚥ࢋ, remarked: “People all read the Four Books in their childhood, but they no longer care for these when they grow up and became merchants; in their leisure they invariably turn to romance or other nonclassical writings.” Yixian sanzhi 唏㑓йᘇ [Three gazetteers of Yi district], juan 15, “Shujun Zungang zhuan” 㡂ੋ䚥ࢋۣ [Biography of Shu Zungang], quoted in Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Wang Tingyuan ⦻ᔧ‫ݳ‬, eds., Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian ᰾␵ᗭ୶䋷ᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of materials on the Huizhou merchants of the Ming and Qing] [Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1985], p. 276, sec. 877. 6. Huang Zongxi, Nanlei wen’an ই䴧᮷Ṹ [Literary works of Huang Zongxi], juan 9, “Lin Sanjiao zhuan” ᷇йᮉۣ [Biography of Lin Zhao’en]. 7. The Japanese Cabinet Library counts among its collection the Chengshi congshu 〻∿ ਒ᴨ [Collected writings of Cheng (Zhi)]. See Sakai Tadao 䞂Ӆᘐཛ (1912–2006), Chūgoku zensho no kenkyū ѝ഻ழᴨȃ⹄ウ [Studies on Chinese morality books] (Tokyo: Kōbundō, 1960), 282. 8. He Liangjun օ㢟‫׺‬, Siyouzhai congshuo ഋ৻啻਒䃚 [Collected discussions from the Four Friends Studio], juan 4. 9. Lu Shusheng 䲨⁩㚢, Lu Wendinggong ji 䲨᮷ᇊ‫ޜ‬䳶 [Collected works of Lu Shusheng], juan 7, “Zeng zhongdafu Guangdong buzhengsi youcangzheng Jinsong Zhanggong [Shiyi] ji pei Lu taishuren hezeng muzhiming” 䌸ѝབྷཛᔓᶡᐳ᭯ਨਣ৳᭯ 䘁ᶮᕥ‫(ޜ‬༛⇵)᳘䝽䲨ཚ␁Ӫਸ㪜ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph written on the combined burial of Zhang Jinsong (Shiyi), posthumously honored grand master of the palace, provincial administration commissioner of Guangdong, and administration vice commissioner on the right, together with his wife, Virtuous Lady Lu], quoted in Shigeta Atsushi 䟽⭠ᗣ, Shindai shakai keizaishi kenkyū ␵ԓ⽮Պ㍼␸ਢ⹄ウ [A study of the social and economic history of the Qing dynasty] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1975), 179.

10. Merchants and Confucian Learning •

239

10.

11. 12.

13. 14. 15.

Another contemporary example was Huang Changshou 哳䮧༭, a merchant of She district: “Tempering business affairs with Confucian methods, he was admired and liked far and near. Within a few years’ time, his assets grew to great proportions.” (Tandu Huangshi zupu ▝⑑哳∿᯿䆌 [Genealogical records of the Huang family of Tandu], juan 9, “Wang Yunweng zhuan” ᵋ䴢㗱ۣ [Biography of Huang Changshuo], quoted in Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, p. 449, item 1364). In addition, the aforementioned Huang Chongde 哳ጷᗧ was known to be “extremely well-read and knowledgeable. From the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Guanzi ㇑ᆀ to the Debate on Salt and Iron of the Eastern Han, from the Tang and Song treaties on food and commodities to the Great Ming Encyclopedic Repository (Da Ming huidian བྷ᰾ᴳި), there was nothing he did not try to understand thoroughly.” (Zhang and Wang, p. 74, item 231). The latter instance makes it especially clear that the books read by the merchants were generally different from those studied by the Confucian literati. Wu Weiye ੣‫ٹ‬ᾝ (Wu Meicun ੣ẵᶁ), Meicun jiacang gao ẵᶁᇦ㯿は [Draft writings of Wu Weiye preserved at home], juan 50, “Zhuo Haichuang mubiao” ঃ⎧ᒒໃ㺘 [Tomb inscription for Zhuo Haichuang]. Wu Weiye, juan 50. The “Huozhi liezhuan” 䋘⇆ࡇۣ [Biographies of the money-makers] in the Shiji quotes the words of Bai Gui: “I manage my business affairs in the same way that Yi Yin Ժቩ and Lü Shang ੲቊ devised their policies, Sunzi ᆛᆀ and Wuzi ੣ᆀ deployed their troops, and Shang Yang ୶䶵 carried out his laws.” Rediscovered in the Ming and Qing periods, this ideal from the Eastern Zhou and the early Han had parallels to what Weber called “instrumental rationality.” See the Wangshi tong zongpu, juan 31, “Xu song Wang Shixian huanxiang” ᒿ䘱⊚ц䌒䚴䜹 [Prefatory composition on Wang Shixian’s (fl. during the Zhengde reign, 1506–1521) return home], quoted in Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, p. 198, sec. 958. Zhao Jishi 䏉ਹ༛, Jiyuan ji suoji ᇴൂᇴᡰᇴ [Expressing the expressed in the Garden of Expression], juan 12. Dai Zhen ᡤ䴷, Dai Zhen wenji ᡤ䴷᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Dai Zhen], juan 12, Dai jiefu jiazhuan ᡤㇰ႖ᇦۣ [Biographies of chaste women of the Dai family]. See Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Tang Lixing ୀ࣋㹼, “Lun Huishang ‘gu er hao ru’ de tese” 䄆ᗭ୶ “䋸㘼ྭ݂” Ⲵ⢩㢢 [On the Huizhou businessmen’s characteristic “affinity for Confucian conduct as merchants”], Zhongguoshi yanjiu ѝ഻ਢ⹄ウ 4 (1984): 68. The Mingzhou Wushi jiatian 㥇⍢੣∿ᇦި [Family code of the Wu Family on Mingzhou] of Xiuning district (Yongzheng [1722–1735] edition) cited in this essay has been studied by Makino Tatsumi ⢗䟾ᐭ. For details, see his “Meidai ni okeru zoku no shasai kiroku no ichirei” ᰾ԓȀᯬǦȥ᯿ȃ⽮⾝䁈䤴ȃаֻ [Records of public family sacrifices in the Ming dynasty: An instance], Tōhō gakuhō ᶡᯩᆨ๡11, no.  1 (March  1940): 305–20. For concrete examples of how the guilds of Huizhou merchants offered sacrifices to Zhu Xi, see the “Huining huiguan yuanshi beiji” ᗭሗᴳ佘 㐓࿻⻁䁈 [Commemorative inscription on the origins of the Huizhou and Xiuning Guild] and the “Huining huiguan beiji” ᗭሗᴳ佘⻁䁈 [Commemorative inscription

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16. 17.

18. 19.

20.

21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26. 27.

for the Huizhou and Xiuning lodges] of Shengze town in Wujiang district, erected in the twelfth year of the Daoguang reign (1832); both included in the Suzhou History Museum et  al., eds., Ming Qing Suzhou gongshangye beikeji ᰾␵㰷ᐎᐕ୶ᾝ⻁࡫䳶 [Collection of inscriptions related to industry and commerce in Suzhou during the Ming and Qing periods] (Nanjing: Jiangsu Renmin, 1981), 355–57. Wu Weiye, Meicun jiacang gao, juan 52, “Wang chushi zhuan” ⊚㲅༛ۣ [Biography of recluse Wang]. See Wang Wan ⊚⩜, Yaofeng wenchao ๟ጟ᮷䡄 [Recorded writings by Wang Wan], juan 15, “Xiangyinbin Xiweng muzhiming” 䜹伢䌃ᑝ㗱ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for venerable district guest Mr. Xi]. Wang Wan, juan 15. Fu Yiling has argued that Xi Qitu’s management of his textile enterprise savored new qualities of “capitalism”; see Fu Yiling ‫ڵ‬㺓߼, “Mingdai Jiangsu Dongting shangren” ᰾ԓ⊏㰷⍎ᓝ୶Ӫ [Merchants of the Dongting Mountains of Jiangsu during the Ming dynasty], in his Ming Qing shidai shangren ji shangye ziben ᰾␵ᱲԓ୶Ӫ৺୶ᾝ䋷ᵜ [Merchants and commercial capital during the Ming and Qing periods] (Beijing: Renmin, 1956), 103. Putting aside the question of “capitalism,” Xi Qitu’s management was indeed innovative. The great entrepreneurial Xi family of the Dongting mountains was an extremely significant one during the years of dynastic transition between the Ming and the Qing; see Zhang Lüxiang ᕥን⾕, Yangyuan xiansheng quanji ὺൂ‫ޘ⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Complete works of Zhang Lüxiang], juan 34, “Yanxing jianwen” 䀰㹼㾻㚎 [Words and deeds seen and heard], part 4, paragraph on Xi Qitu. Xiguan Zhangshi zupu 㾯䰌ㄐ∿᯿䆌 [Genealogical records of the Zhang family of Xiguan], juan 26, quoted in Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, pp. 453–54, sec. 1378. For other similar instances that reflect merchants’ penchant for “fine words and meritorious deeds of earlier generations” or the “mottoes of the sages and worthies,” see pp. 132, 316, 455, secs. 371, 1006, 1381, 1385. Fang Bao ᯩ㤎, Fang Wangxi xiansheng quanji ᯩᵋⓚ‫ޘ⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Complete works of Fang Bao], juan 10, “Wang Dalai muzhiming” ⦻བྷֶໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for Wang Dalai]. Fang Bao, juan 11. Chen Que, Chen Que ji 䲣⻪䳶 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1979), “wenji,” juan 17. Lu Wenchao ⴗ᮷ᕘ, Baojingtang wenji ᣡ㏃า᮷䳶 [Collected literary works from the Abode for Embracing the Classics], juan 29. See the discussion at the start of this chapter for the Shishang yaolan [Essential reading for scholars and merchants], discussed by Terada Takanobu, Sansei shōnin no kenkyū, 309. Interestingly, London merchants of fourteenth- and fifteenth-century England were also fond of copying Christian mottos as a source of inspiration. See Sylvia L. Thrupp, The Merchant Class of Medieval London (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1948), 174. Qian Daxin 䥒བྷ᱅, Qianyantang wenji ▋⹄า᮷䳶 [Collected literary works from the Secluded Study Hall], juan 48. Ouyang Xiu, Xin Tangshu ᯠୀᴨ [New Tang history], juan 196, “Yinyi zhuan” 䳡䙨ۣ [Biographies of recluses].

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241

28. Zhai Hao 㘏⚍, Tongsu bian 䙊؇㐘 [Compendium of common and popular sayings] (with a preface by Zhou Tiandu ઘཙᓖ dated 1751), where it was entered under “yan xiao” 䀰ㅁ [On laughter], in juan 17, sec. 10.

11. THE MERCAN TILE ETHIC

1. Zhang Yingyu ᕥ៹؎, Dupian xinshu ᶌ偉ᯠᴨ [A new collection of swindling cases]. 2. Xie Zhaozhe 䅍㚷␋ (courtesy name, Xie Zaihang 䅍൘ᶝ), Wu zazu ӄ䴌‫[ ׾‬Five kinds of miscellaneous notes], juan 64, “dibu er” ൠ䜘Ҽ [Geographical regions, part 2]. 3. Wang Daokun ⊚䚃ᰶ, Taihan ji ཚ࠭䳶 [Collected works of Wang Daokun], juan 2, “Wang Changjun lun zui xu” ⊚䮧ੋ䄆ᴰᒿ [Prefatory composition to Wang Changjun’s discussion of extremes]. 4. Wang Ding’an ⦻ᇊᆹ et  al., Liang Huai yanfa zhi ‫␞ޙ‬咭⌅ᘇ [Treatise on the salt regulations in the Huai River area], juan 14, “Renwu liu: kedibiao shang” Ӫ⢙‫ޝ‬g、ㅜ 㺘к [Personages, part 6: Tables for the civil service examinations, sec. 1]. 5. For details see Fujii Hiroshi 㰔Ӆᆿ, “Shin’an shōnin no kenkyū” ᯠᆹ୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A  study of the Xin’an merchants], Tōyō gakuhō ᶡ⌻ᆨ๡, part 4, vol.  36, no.  4 (March 1954): 119–28. 6. See Saeki Tomi ր՟ᇼ (1910–2006), Chūgokushi kenkyū ѝ഻ਢ⹄ウ [Studies in Chinese history] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1971), 2:263–322. 7. Li Mengyang ᵾདྷ䲭, Kongtong xiansheng ji オ਼‫⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Collected works of Li Mengyang], juan 39, “Ni chuzhi yanfa shiyi zhuang” ᬜ㲅㖞咭⌅һᇌ⣰ [Proposals to deal with matters pertaining to the salt laws]. 8. Gu Yanwu wrote: “If the Xindu (Huizhou) people . . ., while traveling away on business, come upon their fellow townsmen involved in litigation, they treat the matter as if it were their own. Assembling and rallying resources, they help one another for the sake of their common native place.” Gu Yanwu’s Zhaoyu zhi 㚷ฏᘇ is quoted in Fu Yiling’s ‫ڵ‬㺓߼ Ming Qing jingji shehuishi lunwen ji ᰾␵㏃☏⽮ᴳਢ 䄆᮷䳶 [Collected essays on Ming and Qing social and economic history] (Beijing: Renmin, 1982), 192. This statement strongly attests to the fact that Huizhou merchants had already developed a keen collective consciousness of their rights as a group. Wherever they went, officials and bureaucrats of Xin’an origin would, indeed, also make a point of safeguarding the interests of their fellow townsmen who happened to be there on business; see Negishi Tadashi ṩየ֦ (1874–1971), Shina girudo no kenkyū ᭟䛓ȶɳɑȃ⹄ウ [A study of Chinese guilds] (Tokyo: Shibun shoin, 1940), 172. 9. Quotation from Gu Yanwu in Xie Guozhen 䅍഻ᾘ, Mingdai shehui jingji shiliao xuanbian ᰾ԓ⽮ᴳ㏃☏ਢᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of historical materials on Ming society and economy] (Fujian: Renmin, 1981), 2:91–92. Original punctuation amended. 10. Max Weber, The Religion of China: Confucianism and Daoism, trans. and ed. Hans H. Gerth (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1951), 232–35.

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10. Merchants and Confucian Learning

11. For a discussion of the Shanxi merchants’ acceptance of “sincerity/honesty,” “true” (shi ሖ), “no deception” and “clean-handedness,” etc., as their “golden rule,” see especially Saeki Tomi ր՟ᇼ, “Sansei shōnin no kigen to enkaku” ኡ㾯୶Ӫȃ䎧Ⓚǽ⋯䶙 [The origin and development of the Shanxi merchants], Tōhō gaku ᶡ⌻ᆨ๡ 58 (July 1979): 21; and Terada Takanobu ሪ⭠䲶ؑ, Sansei shōnin no kenkyū ኡ㾯୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A study of the Shanxi merchants] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1972), chap. 5, sec. 5. Regarding Huizhou merchants’ special emphasis on “honesty/sincerity,” “faithfulness,” and “righteousness,” see Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Tang Lixing ୀ࣋㹼, “Lun Huishang ‘gu er hao ru’ de tese” 䄆ᗭ୶ “䋸㘼ྭ݂” Ⲵ⢩㢢 [On the Huizhou businessmen’s characteristic “affinity for Confucian conduct as merchants”], Zhongguoshi yanjiu ѝ഻ਢ⹄ウ 4 (1984): 53–64; Zhang Haipeng and Wang Tingyuan ⦻ᔧ‫ݳ‬, eds., Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian ᰾␵ᗭ୶䋷ᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of materials on the Huizhou merchants of the Ming and Qing] (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1985), chap. 4, sec. 3, “Business Morality,” 272–91. 12. See Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Allen & Unwin, 1930), 25, also 106, 222–23. 13. Shao Bowen 䛥՟ⓛ (1037–1134), Shaoshi wenjian lu 䛥∿㚎㾻䤴 [Shao’s record of things heard and seen], juan 8. 14. Shao Bo 䛥ঊ (d. 1158), Shaoshi wenjian hou lu 䛥∿㚎㾻ᖼ䤴 [Shao’s record of things heard and seen, a sequel], juan 20. 15. Kang Hai ᓧ⎧ (1475–1541), Kang Duishan ji ᓧሽኡ䳶 [Collected Works of Kang Hai], juan 38, “Fufeng qibin Fanweng muzhiming” ᢦ付㘶䌃›㗱ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for venerable district guest Mr. Fan of Fufeng]. 16. Li Mengyang, Kongtong xiansheng ji, juan 44. 17. Li Weizhen ᵾ㏝ᾘ, Dabishanfang ji བྷ⋼ኡᡯ䳶 [Collected writings from the Dabi Mountain Studio], juan 73, “Hu Renzhi jiazhuan” 㜑ӱѻᇦۣ [Biography of Hu Renzhi’s family]. 18. Wuyuan xianzhi ႪⓀ㑓ᘇ (Gazetteer of Wuyuan County), juan 42, “Yi xing” 㗙㹼 [Righteous conduct], sec. 8, quoted in Shigeta Atsushi 䟽⭠ᗣ, Shindai shakai keizaishi kenkyū ␵ԓ⽮Պ㍼␸ਢ⹄ウ [A study of the social and economic history of the Qing dynasty] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1975), 331. It may be noted that the records in the Wuyuan xianzhi were “submitted by reporters and checked by divisional directors before they were passed on” (see “Fan li” ࠑֻ [Guide to use]) and therefore reasonably authentic and reliable. That Sima Guang’s precept of “sincerity/honesty” did indeed exert moral influence on the merchants may be seen in the Songtang Huangshi zongpu ㄖຈ哳∿ᇇ䆌 of the She district (edition published in the forty-first year of the Jiajing reign, i.e., 1562), juan 6, “Huanggong Jifang zhuan” 哳‫⫓ޜ‬㣣ۣ [Biography of Huang Jifang], in Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, 441, item 1347. 19. Wang Wan ⊚⩜, Yaofeng wenchao ๟ጟ᮷䡄 [Recorded writings by Wang Wan], juan 16, “Guantaoweng muzhiming” 㿰☔㗱ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for Mr. Jin Runai]. 20. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 14, “Zeng Fang chushi xu” 䌸ᯩ㲅༛ᒿ [Prefatory composition to Hermit Fang].

11. The Mercantile Ethic • 243

21. Wang Daokun, juan 28, “Wang chushi zhuan” ⊚㲅༛ۣ [Biography of Hermit Wang]. 22. Wang Daokun, juan 35, “Ming siji Ruan Changgong zhuan” ᰾䌌㍊䱞䮧‫[ ۣޜ‬Biography of Ruan Changgong of the Ming, with conferred honorary rank]. 23. Gui Zhuang ↨㦺, Gui Zhuang ji ↨㦺䳶 [Collected works of Gui Zhuang], juan 10, “Za zhu” 䴌㪇 [Miscellaneous writings]. 24. Wang Huizu ⊚䕍⾆, Bingta menghen lu ⯵ΎདྷⰅ䤴 [Record of dream traces in the sickbed], part 1, entry under “the tenth year of the Qianlong reign” [1745]. 25. Wang Huizu, part 2, entry under “the 58th year of the Qianlong reign” [1793]. 26. According to Peter Burke, “popular culture” was also something shared by the educated aristocratic elite in early sixteenth-century Europe, constituting their “second culture.” See Peter Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe (New York: Harper Torchbook, 1978), chap. 2.

12. “THE WAY OF BUSINESS”

1. Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons (London: Allen & Unwin, 1930), 53–54. 2. Weber, 70, 76. 3. Cao Shuming ᴩ␁᰾, Xin’an Xiuning mingzu zhi ᯠᆹՁሗ਽᯿ᘇ [Gazetteer of the prominent clans in the Xin’an and Xiuning region], juan 1, quoted in Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Wang Tingyuan ⦻ᔧ‫ݳ‬, eds., Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian ᰾␵ᗭ ୶䋷ᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of materials on the Huizhou merchants of the Ming and Qing] (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1985), 234, item 708. Another Wuyuan merchant, Li Daqi ᵾབྷ⽱ (1522–1587), also said: “A man’s aspirations extend in the four directions. What is there that I should not do? Even if I cannot rise high in officialdom to bring glory to my parents, founding an enterprise and establishing the family will suffice to hand down prosperity to my descendants. (“Huantian Ming chushi Songfeng Ligong xingzhuang” ⫠⭠᰾㲅༛ᶮጠᵾ‫ޜ‬㹼⣰ [The life and deeds of the Ming hermit Li Songfeng of Huantian], in Santian Lishi zongpu й⭠ᵾ∿ᇇ䆌 [Genealogical records of the Li family of Santian], quoted in Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, 470, item 1427.) 4. Wang Daokun ⊚䚃ᰶ, Taihan ji ཚ࠭䳶 [Collected works of Wang Daokun], juan 35, “Ming siji Ruan Changgong zhuan.” 5. Xie Guozhen 䅍഻ᾘ, Mingdai shehui jingji shiliao xuanbian ᰾ԓ⽮ᴳ㏃☏ਢᯉ䚨㐘 [Selected compilation of historical materials on Ming society and economy] (Fujian: Renmin, 1981), 2:96. There are many instances where sources used the term “lofty aspirations” to characterize merchants, e.g., Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, 223, 259, items 672, 821. 6. She district, Xushi shipu 䁡∿ц䆌 [Genealogy of the Xu clan], vol.  5, “Pingshan Xugong xingzhuan” ᒣኡ䁡‫ޜ‬㹼⣰ [The life and deeds of Mr. Xu Pingshan], quoted in Zhang and Wang, Ming Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian, p. 216, sec. 646.

244 • 11. The Mercantile Ethic

7. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 34, “Pan Tingzhou zhuan” █≰⍢ۣ [Biography of Pan Tingzhou]. 8. Wang Daokun, juan 29, “Fan Changjun zhuan” 㤳䮧ੋۣ [Biography of Fan Changjun]. 9. Qian Qianyi 䥒䅉⳺, Youxue ji ᴹᆨ䳶 [Collected works on learning], juan 35, “Taixuesheng Yuezhi Wengjun mubiao” ཚᆨ⭏㌴ѻ㗱ੋໃ㺘 [Tomb inscription for National University student Weng Yuezhi]. 10. Wu Weiye ੣‫ٹ‬ᾝ, Meicun jiacang gao ẵᶁᇦ㯿は [Draft writings of Wu Weiye preserved at home], juan 47, “Taixue Zhangjun Jifan muzhiming” ཚᆨᕥੋᆓ㑱ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for National University student Zhang Jifan]. 11. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 65, “Yubu Chen Shijun quezheng bei” 㲎䜘䲣֯ੋ ῧ᭯⻁ [Tablet inscription on the franchise policies of Commissioner Chen of the Bureau of Forestry and Crafts]. 12. Huang Zongxi 哳ᇇ㗢, Mingyi daifang lu ᰾ཧᖵ䁚䤴 [A plan for the prince], part 3, “Caiji” 䋑䀸 [Financial methods]. 13. See Zhang Juzheng ᕥት↓, Zhang Wenzhonggong quanji ᕥ᮷ᘐ‫ޘޜ‬䳶 [Complete works of Zhang Juzheng], wenji [Literary works], juan 8, “Zeng Shuibu Zhou Hanpu que jun huanchao xu” 䌸≤䜘ઘ╒⎖ῧㄓ䚴ᵍᒿ [Prefatory composition to Zhou Hanpu of the Bureau of Waterways and Irrigation, on his completion of his custom house duties and return to the capital]; and Zhang Han ᕥ♊, Songchuang mengyu ᶮデདྷ䃎 [Dream talk from Pine Window], juan 4, “Account of Merchants and Traders.” 14. Gui Youguang ↨ᴹ‫ݹ‬, Zhenchuan xiansheng ji 䴷ᐍ‫⭏ݸ‬䳶 [Collected works of Gui Youguang], juan 13, “Dongzhuang Sunjun qishishou xu” ᶡ㦺ᆛੋгॱ༭ᒿ [Prefatory composition written on the seventieth birthday of Sun Dongzhuang]. 15. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 37, “Wu Boju zhuan” ੣՟㠹ۣ [Biography of Wu Boju]. 16. Yao Nai ည啀, Xibaoxuan ji ᜌᣡ䔂䳶 [Collected works from Xibao Studio], “Wen houji” [Literary writings, latter collection], juan 6, “Zeng Zhongxian dafu Wuling Zhaojun mubiao” 䌸ѝ២བྷཛ↖䲥䏉ੋໃ㺘 [Tomb inscription for honorary grand master exemplar Zhao of Wuling]. 17. Shen Xiaosi ⊸ᆍᙍ, Jin lu ᱹ䤴 (Historical record of Jin) (Xuehai leibian ed.). For “huoji,” see subsequent discussion, including n. 22. 18. Quoted in Xie Guozhen, Mingdai shehui jingji shiliao xuanbian, 2:91. 19. Wang Shizhen ⦻ц䋎, Yanzhou shangren sibu gao ᔷᐎ୶Ӫഋ䜘は [Drafts in four divisions by the merchant of Yanzhou], juan 61, “Zeng Chengjun wushi xu” 䌸〻ੋӄॱᒿ [Prefatory composition to Mr. Cheng on his fiftieth birthday]. 20. Jin Sheng 䠁㚢, Jin Taishi ji 䠁ཚਢ䳶 [Collected writings of Chief Censor Jin], juan 4, “Yu She Lingjun shu” 㠷↉Ԕੋᴨ [Letter to the district magistrate of She]. 21. Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji, juan 7, “Dongting sanliefu zhuan” ⍎ᓝй⛸႖ۣ [Biographies of three chaste women in Dongting]. 22. In Lu Rong’s 䲨ᇩ Shuyuan zaji 㨭ൂ䴌䁈 [Miscellaneous notes from Bean Garden], it is stated that “a guest-merchant who merges his capital into a common enterprise is called a partner (huoji ⚛䀸),” and that “the popular identification of partner (huoji Չ 䀸) with partner-assistant (huoji ཕ䀸) is an erroneous one” (juan 4). What Lu Rong referred to was of course “joining capital” or “joint capital” (heben ਸᵜ) or “forming

12. “The Way of Business” •

245

23. 24.

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

a partnership” (hehuo ਸཕ), but it shows precisely that the partner-assistant system was a new phenomenon that thus became readily mixed up with the partner system. The latter had a long history, having gained currency since Tang and Song times. Special research on this subject has been done by Miyazaki Ichisada ᇞጾᐲᇊ, “Gappan soshiki no hattatsu” ਸᵜ㍴㒄ȃⲬ䚄 [Development of the joint capital system], Tōyōshi kenkyū 17, no. 1 (1955): 73–74; as well as by Hino Kaisaburō ᰕ䟾䮻й䛾 and Kusano Yasushi 㥹䟾䶆, “TōSō jidai no gappan ni tsuite” ୀᆻᱲԓȃਸᵜȀቡǘǸ [Joint stock in the Tang-Song period], Tōyōshi kenkyū 13, no. 5 (1951): 50–60; both articles preserved in Kyoto University Research Repository. The new partner-assistant system itself also registered new developments during the Qing dynasty. See Hatano Yoshihiro ⌒ཊ䟾ழབྷ, Chūgoku kindai kōgyōshi no kenkyū ѝ഻䘁ԓᐕᾝਢȃ⹄ウ [A  study of the history of Chinese industry in modern times] (Tokyo: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1961), 55–60. The earliest information on “partnership business” to my knowledge is the “Zhongfan gongshi yue” ѝ䋙‫ֽޡ‬㌴ partnership contract discovered in the Han tomb at Mount Fenghuang in Jiangling. For details, see Huang Shengzhang 哳ⴋ⪻, Lishi dili yu kaoku luncong ↧ਢൠ⨶㠷㘳ਔ䄆਒ [Collected studies in history, geography, and archaeology] (Jinan: Qilu shushe, 1982), 166–69. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 58, “Cheng Cigong muzhiming” 〻⅑‫ޜ‬ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for Cheng Cigong]. See Li Longqian ᵾ喽▋, “Mingdai yan de kaizhong zhidu yu yanshang ziben de fazhan” ᰾ԓ咭Ⲵ䮻ѝࡦᓖ㠷咭୶䋷ᵜⲴⲬኅ [The Ming system of equitable exchange of grain for salt and the development of the salt merchants’ capital], quoted in Nanjing daxue lishixi Ming Qing shi yanjiushi ইӜབྷᆨ↧ਢ㌫᰾␵ਢ⹄ウᇔ [Ming Qing History Research Room of the History Department of Nanjing University], comp., Ming Qing zibenzhuyi mengya yanjiu lunwenji ᰾␵䋷ᵜѫ㗙㨼㣭⹄ウ䄆᮷䳶 [Collected studies in the germination of capitalism during the Ming and Qing dynasties] (Shanghai: Renmin, 1981), 506. Max Weber, The Religion of China: Confucianism and Daoism, trans. and ed. Hans  H. Gerth (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1951), 236–37; and The Protestant Ethic, 21–22. Based on Kurt Samuelsson, Religion and Economic Action, trans. E. Geoffrey French (New York: Basic Books, 1961), 122–23. Thomas S. Ashton’s original work is Iron and Steel in the Industrial Revolution, 2nd ed. (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1951). Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 35, “Biography of Ruan Changgong.” The “libationer” (jijiu ⾝䞂), e.g., the chief executive or senior member of a guild or profession who had the status to offer the libations at banquets, etc., was a term borrowed from the title of an official with ritual duties in the imperial bureaucracy. Wu Weiye, Meicun jiacang gao, juan 47, “Taipusi shaoqing Xi Ninghou muzhiming” ཚ‫܅‬ሪቁযᑝሗ‫ן‬ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for Vice Minister Xi of the Court of the Imperial Stud, Marquis of Ning]. The fifth of Yuan Jue’s 㺱ầ eight “Song Ma Boyong yushi fengshi Hexi” 䘱俜՟ᓨᗑਢ ཹ֯⋣㾯 [Poems to Censor Ma Boyong on his mission to Hexi], in his Qingrong jushi

246

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12. “The Way of Business”

30.

31. 32.

33. 34.

35. 36. 37.

38.

39. 40. 41.

ji ␵ᇩት༛䳶 [Collected works of lay Buddhist Qingrong (Yuan Jue)], juan 4, contains the following lines, which show that heti refers to letters: “Flying wings came from the northwest, / And gave me two heti, / In which are words that lay bare the feelings.” Zhang Haipeng ᕥ⎧厜 and Tang Lixing ୀ࣋㹼, “Lun Huishang ‘gu er hao ru’ de tese” 䄆ᗭ୶ “䋸㘼ྭ݂” Ⲵ⢩㢢 [On the Huizhou businessmen’s characteristic “affinity for Confucian conduct as merchants”], Zhongguoshi yanjiu ѝ഻ਢ⹄ウ 4 (1984): 62– 63. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 77, “Jingyuan ji” 㥺ൂ䁈 [Notes from Bramble Garden]. See Takeda Kusuo ↖⭠ᾐ䳴, “Tōzai jūroku seiki shōsan no taiketsu” ᶡ㾯ॱ‫ޝ‬ц㌰୶㇇ ȃሽ⊪ [A comparison of Eastern and Western commercial arithmetic of the sixteenth century], Kagakushi kenkyū 、ᆨਢ⹄ウ 36 (October–December 1955): 17–32; 38 (April–June 1956): 10–16; and 39 (July–September 1956): 71–74. For Weber’s statement, see The Protestant Ethic, 22, 24–25. Yü studied this problem a little further in “Business Culture and Chinese Traditions”; see Ying-shih Yü, Chinese History and Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016), 1:257–58. Gu Xiancheng 亗២ᡀ, Xiaoxinzhai zhaji ሿᗳ啻ࢴ䁈 [Notes from Cautious Studio], juan 14. See Chen Yuan 䲣ී, “Ji Lü Wancun zisun” 䁈ੲᲊᶁᆀᆛ [On the descendants of Lü Liuliang], in his Chen Yuan xueshu lunwenji 䲣ීᆨ㺃䄆᮷䳶 [Collected academic essays by Chen Yuan] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1982), 88–91. Weber, The Protestant Ethic, 68. Kang Hai ᓧ⎧, Kang Duishan ji ᓧሽኡ䳶 [Collected works of Kang Hai], juan 39, “Shufu disi fujun muzhiming” ਄⡦ㅜഋᓌੋໃᘇ䣈 [Epitaph for my fourth uncle]. Wei Xi 兿⿗, Wei Shuzi wenji 兿਄ᆀ᮷䳶 [Collected literary writings of Wei Xi], juan 18, “Sanyuan Shenweng mubiao” й৏⭣㗱ໃ㺘 [Tomb inscription for Mr. Shen (Wencai) of Sanyuan district]. Miyazaki Ichisada ᇞጾᐲᇊ, “Donko to renko” 䋚䋸ǽᓹ䋸 [Rapacious merchants and clean-handed merchants], in Ajia shi kenkyū ȪɀȪਢ⹄ウ, no. 4, 3rd ed. (1957; Kyoto: Dōhōsha, 1980), 496–97. Terada Takanobu ሪ⭠䲶ؑ has also made same point in Sansei shōnin no kenkyū ኡ㾯୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A study of the Shanxi merchants] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1972), 290. Wang Daokun, Taihan ji, juan 45, “Ming chushi Jiang Cigong muzhiming” ᰾㲅༛⊏ ⅑‫ޜ‬ໃ䂼䣈 [Epitaph for the Ming hermit Jiang Cigong]. Wang Wan ⊚⩜, Yaofeng wenchao ๟ጟ᮷䡄 [Recorded writings by Wang Wan], juan 16, “Epitaph for Mr. Jin Runai.” Sun Yuanru ᆛ␥ྲ, “Qing gufeng xiuzhilang LiangZhe yanke dashi Taojun Zhengxiang mujieming” ␵᭵ሱ‫؞‬㚧䛾‫⎉ޙ‬咭䃢བྷ֯䲦ੋ↓⾕ໃ⻓䣈 [Tomb inscription for the late Mr. Tao Zhengxiang of the Qing, salt tax commissioner of the LiangZhe region and honored gentleman for good service], in his Wusong yuan wengao ӄᶮൂ᮷は [Literary drafts from Five Pines Garden], in Sibu congkan edition of Sun Yuanru shiwenji ᆛ␥ྲ䂙᮷䳶 [Poetic and literary writings of Sun Yuanru].

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42. Qian Yong 䥒⌣, Lüyuan conghua ንൂ਒䂡 [Collected talks from Lü Garden], juan 24, “Zaji xia” 䴌䁈л [Miscellaneous notes, part 2]. 43. Xu Zhongyuan 䁡Ԣ‫ݳ‬, Sanyi bitan й⮠ㅶ䃷 [Written discussions of three anomalies], juan 3. 44. Fu Yiling ‫ڵ‬㺓߼, Mingdai Jiangnan shimin jingji shitan ᰾ԓ⊏ইᐲ≁㏃☏䂖᧒ [An inquiry into the economy of the townsmen in the South during the Ming dynasty] (Shanghai: Renmin, 1957), 130. Terada Takanobu rightly observes that the name “Yimei” was a “trademark” woven into the cloth; he also suspects that the figures in the passage quoted might be erroneous. See his “So Shō chihō ni okeru toshi no mengyō shōnin ni tsuite” 㰷ǃᶮᯩȀᯬǦȥ䜭ᐲȃỹᾝ୶ӪȀǙǻ [On the cotton merchants of towns in the Su and Song region], Shirin ਢ᷇ 41, no. 6 (November 1958): 66–67.

CONCLUSION

1. For details, see Lien-sheng Yang, “Government Control of Urban Merchants in Traditional China,” in his Sinological Studies and Reviews (Taipei: Shihua, 1982). 2. Linqing 哏ឦ (Wanyan Linqing ᆼ乿哏ឦ, 1791–1846), Hongxue yinyuan tuji 卫䴚ഐ㐓 െ䁈 [Record of a wild swan’s trail], second lithographic edition printed in the fourth month of the sixth year of the Guangxu reign (1880) by the Dianshizhai 唎⸣啻 of Shanghai (first published in 1839), vol. 1, part 2, “Fangxi yingmu” ᰹ⓚ䗾⇽ [Welcoming my mother at Bright Stream]. I am grateful to my wife, Monica Shuping Chen Yü, for drawing my attention to this piece of information. It remains to be determined whether shenshang ㍣୶ (gentry-merchants) is a compound term or an abbreviated one referring to two separate categories, but Linqing’s use of shangshen ୶㍣ (merchants-gentry) points to the latter alternative in the same way that the book Shishang yaolan ༛୶㾱㿭 [Essential readings for scholars and merchants] is addressed to both the “shi” and the “shang.” Furthermore, in the inscription “Chong jun Suzhou chenghe ji” 䟽⎊㰷ᐎ෾⋣䁈 [In commemoration of the redredging of the city stream in Suzhou] erected in the second year of the Jiaqing reign (1797) by Fei Chun 䋫␣, provincial governor of Jiangsu, there is a line, “thus the gentry (shenshi ㍣ ༛) and merchants (shangmin ୶≁) within the prefecture came in groups to contribute their resources.” (See Suzhou History Museum et  al., eds., Ming Qing Suzhou gongshangye beikeji ᰾␵㰷ᐎᐕ୶ᾝ⻁࡫䳶 [Collection of inscriptions related to industry and commerce in Suzhou during the Ming and Qing periods] [Nanjing: Jiangsu Renmin, 1981], 306.) Here the phrase shenshi shangmin indisputably points to two categories of people rather than a compound entity. Erected in the late eighteenth century, this inscription is the earliest example of such kind that I have come across, and it seems reasonable to take the later term shenshang as an abbreviation of shenshi shangmin. 3. See Irwin  G. Wyllie, The Self-made Man in America: The Myth of Rags to Riches (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1954), which is a special sociological

248

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12. “The Way of Business”

4.

5. 6.

7.

8.

9. 10.

11.

study of American merchants done based on Weber’s “Protestant ethic” thesis. See also the discussion of Wyllie’s book in Kurt Samuelsson, Religion and Economic Action, trans. E. Geoffrey French (New York: Basic Books, 1961), 67–68. Wang Daokun ⊚䚃ᰶ, Taihan ji ཚ࠭䳶 [Collected works of Wang Daokun], juan 16, “Yanshan Wang Changgong liushi shou xu” ‫އ‬ኡ⊚䮧‫ॱޝޜ‬༭ᒿ [Prefatory composition written for the sixtieth birthday of Wang Changgong of the Yan Mountains]. See Guenther Roth’s “Introduction,” in Max Weber, Economy and Society, ed. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), liv. On monarchical dictatorship, see Saeki Tomi ր՟ᇼ, Chūgokushi kenkyū ѝ഻ਢ⹄ウ [Studies in Chinese history] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1971), 1:61–74. On the state and bureaucracy, see Fujii Hiroshi 㰔Ӆᆿ, “Shin’an shōnin no kenkyū” ᯠᆹ୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A study of the Xin’an merchants], part 4, Tōyō gakuhō ᶡ⌻ᆨ๡, vol.  36, no.  4 (March 1954): sec. 6, pp. 115–32. Zhang Jixin ᕥ䳶俘, Dao Xian huanhai jianwen lu 䚃૨ᇖ⎧㾻㚎䤴 [Record of things seen and heard in the sea of officialdom during the reigns of Daoguang (1821–1850) and Xianfeng (1851–1861)] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1981), 123–27. Shi shang yao lan ༛୶㾱㿭 [Essential reading for scholars and merchants], quoted in Terada Takanobu ሪ⭠䲶ؑ, Sansei shōnin no kenkyū ኡ㾯୶Ӫȃ⹄ウ [A study of the Shanxi merchants] (Kyoto: Tōyōshi kenkyūkai, 1972), 320. The Suzhou History Museum’s Ming Qing Suzhou gongshangye beikeji has provided many concrete cases showing how merchants suffered various harassments under the Ming and Qing bureaucratic system. All the troubles were invariably connected with the petty officials of local government offices. For a discussion of such issues as broker houses and petty officials, see Wu Qiyan ੣ཷ㹽, “Qingdai qianqi yahang zhi shishu” ␵ԓࡽᵏ⢉㹼 ࡦ䂖䘠 [A tentative account of the broker houses system in the early period of the Qing dynasty], Qingshi luncong ␵ਢ䄆਒ 6 (June  1985): 26–52; Ren Daobin ԫ䚃ᮼ, “Qingdai Jiaxing diqu xuli yadu zai jingji fangmian de zui’e huodong” ␵ԓహ㠸ൠ॰㜕 ਿ㺉㹩൘㏃☏ᯩ䶒Ⲵ㖚ᜑ⍫अ [Criminal activities pertaining to the economy undertaken by petty officials and yamen parasites in the Jiaxing region during the Qing dynasty], in Qingshi luncong 6 (June 1985): 123–34. Gu Yanwu 亗⚾↖, Gu Tinglin shiwenji 亗ӝ᷇䂙᮷䳶 [Collected prose and poetry of Gu Yanwu] (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1983), juan 1. Dai Zhen ᡤ䴷, Dai Zhen wenji ᡤ䴷᮷䳶 [Collected literary works of Dai Zhen], juan 12, “Wangshi juanli xuetian bei” ⊚∿ᦀ・ᆨ⭠⻁ [Inscription on the endowment of school properties by Mr. Wang]. Shen Yao ⊸༥, Luofanlou wenji ⍋ᐶ⁃᮷䳶 [Collected literary works from LoweredSail Dwelling], “Waiji yi” [Additional collected works, part 1], juan 6, “Xie Fujun jiazhuan” 䅍ᓌੋᇦۣ [Biography of the family of Mr. Xie].

Conclusion

•

249

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Bibliography

Index

academies, 58–59, 99 accounting practices, xxxiv, xxxviii, 194 An Lushan rebellion (751–764), xix, xxii, 22, 28, 49, 214n21 Analects (Confucius), xiv, 78, 80, 101, 229n24 Anti-Dühring, The (Engels), 4 arithmetic, commercial, xxxiv, 138, 149, 194 Ashton, T. S., xxxiv, 192 Bai Gui, 155, 156, 240n12 Baizhang Huaihai, xviii–xix, 21–27, 22–24, 25–26, 27, 30, 31, 42, 59–60, 214n21 Baizhang qinggui (Monastic rules of Baizhang), xviii, 21, 23, 27, 31, 42, 58, 59–60, 214n21, 215n26. See also Chanyuan qinggui Banshiji de fendou (Half-century of struggle). See Business as a Vocation Bao Dengming, 137 Beiyou yulu (Recorded conversations while on northward travels; Yin Zhiping), 33, 35

Bellah, Robert N., 12, 19–20 Bingta menghen lu (Record of dream traces in the sickbed; Wang Huizu), 180 “Biographies of the Money-Makers” (“Huozhi liezhuan”; Shiji), 155, 156, 185, 187, 196, 233n4 Bodhidharma, 56, 219n11 Book of Changes, 50, 62, 159 Book of History (Shangshu), 50, 101, 169 Book of Poetry (Odes), 50, 194 Boshan, 154 Buddhism: bodhisattva ideal in, xxv, 91, 93, 94; vs. Christianity, xviii, 20, 231n22; and Confucianism, xxxvi, 13, 63, 154, 229n24; criticism of, xxii, 51, 52; and Daoism, 28; elite patronage of, xix, 22; and Fan Zhongyan, 91–92; Huayan, 75; reform movement in, 12, 13, 21; transmission in, 54–55, 57, 219nn9–11; Weber on, xv; work ethic in, 21–24, 23–24; world-renouncing spirit of, 15–16 Buddhism, new Chan, 8, 15–27; and Christianity, xviii, 19–20, 231n22; and

Lutheranism, 12–13; and new Confucianism, xxiv–xxvi, 86–87, 87–88, 98–99, 104; and new Daoism, xix, xx, 35, 36, 42; in New England, 5, 6; predestination in, xxv, xxxi, 3, 7, 86, 86–87, 87, 87–88, 183; vs. Protestantism, 13; social responsibility in, 87, 90, 98; Weber on, xxxvii, 11; work ethic in, xix, 26, 83, 85, 173 capitalism: Asian adoption of, xxxvi, xxxix, xl, xli–xlii, 6, 8; Asian failure to develop, xxxvii, 1, 2, 11–12, 203–6; and Calvinism, xxx, xxxviii, xli, 2–3, 5, 13, 229n29; in Chinese economic development, xxix–xlii, 4–5, 11–12; Chinese scholarship on, xiv–xv, xlii–xliii; commercial vs. bourgeois, xxx; competition in, 199; factors in development of, xxx–xxxi, xxxv– xxxvi, xxxviii, 3, 7; Marxist vs. Weberian views of, xlii, 1–9; obstructions to, xxxv, xxxviii, xl, xlii, 203–6; and Protestant ethic, 13, 96, 169, 203; virtues of, 5, 182; in the West, xxx, xxxv, xl, 4, 6, 7, 13, 201 Chan Buddhism. See Buddhism, new Chan Chan Wing-tsit, xxi Changlu Zongze, 59 Chanlin xiangqi jian, 23 Chanyuan qinggui (Monastic rules of the Chan community; Changlu Zongze), 31, 59–60 Che Xingjian, vii Chen Baisha (Chen Xianzhang), 84, 152 Chen Chun, 69 Chen Fuliang, 86 Chen Huanzhang, x Chen Liang, ix–x, xxi, xxv, 86 Chen Qi, 148 Chen Que, xxvii, 118–19, 119, 119–20, 121, 122, 162, 163, 164 Chen Xu, 24

Buddhism, new Chan (continued) Complete Truth Daoism, xix–xx, 29–31, 32, 36–37; inner-worldly asceticism of, xvii, xx, xli, 15, 16, 19, 21, 26–27, 60, 91, 94–95, 108, 214n18; in Japan, 60, 215n26; and merchants, 154, 157, 176, 178, 180; and new Confucianism, xxii, xxii–xxiv, xxxi, 47–48, 49–60, 51, 52–53, 61–67, 71, 75–76, 77, 91, 102, 108–9; and new Daoism, xix–xx, 29–31, 32, 36–37, 37–38, 42, 44, 218n34; social responsibility in, 94–95; and social status, 56–57, 96–97, 108–9; teachers in, 56–57; transmission in, 54–55, 57, 219nn9–11; and True Great Way Daoism, 37–38, 42; and Wang Anshi, 92–94; and Wang Yangming, 107, 108–9; work ethic in, xviii–xix, 21, 22, 23–24, 27, 51–52, 81, 82, 83, 121. See also Baizhang Huaihai; Dahui Zonggao; Huineng; “one day no work, one day no food” bureaucracy, Imperial: and capitalism, xxxv, xxxviii, xl, xlii, 203–6; and merchants, 200, 203–6, 246n27, 249n8 Business as a Vocation (Huang Jinxing), ix, xl “Buyi Zhoujun mubiao” (Tomb inscription for Mr. Zhou the commoner; Zhu Yizun), 136–37 Cai Bian, 92 Cai Bofang, xv Cai Shangxiang, 228n22 Caldwell, Ernest, xxxii Calvin, John, xviii, 19, 20, 26 Calvinism: “calling” (tianzhi) in, xx, xxiv, xxx, 5, 12, 19, 81, 85, 182, 183, 211n3; and capitalism, xxx, xxxviii, xli, 2–3, 5, 229n29; chosen people in, xxv, 87, 225n27; vs. Confucianism, xxxvii, xl, xli, 12, 68, 86; inner-worldly asceticism in, xxxvii, xxxviii, xl, 5, 19, 85; vs.

268

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Index

Chen Yinke, 13, 51, 54 Chen Yizeng, 37 Chen Yuan, 38, 42, 43, 218n32 Cheng Bai’an, 128–29 Cheng Hao (Mingdao), xxi, 58, 63, 87, 224n23; and Chan Buddhism, xxii, 59, 77; on Confucianism vs. Buddhism, 65, 78; on principle and qi, 65, 74; and seriousness, 80, 81 Cheng Yi (Yichuan), xxi, 58, 59, 63, 87, 99, 224n23; and Chan Buddhism, 77–78; on Confucianism vs. Buddhism, xxiii, 64–65, 66; and Great Learning, xxvi, 98; and seriousness, 80, 81; and work ethic, 84, 117 Cheng Yunzhang, 151 Cheng Zhou, 183 Cheng-Zhu School, xxi, 65, 68, 84; vs. Lu-Wang School, 99, 100–110. See also Cheng Hao; Cheng Yi; Zhu Xi Chinese Communist Party (CCP), xv “Chongxiu Jixiangong bei” (Inscription on the reconstruction of the Assembled Immortals Temple; Chen Yizeng), 37 Christianity, 12, 26, 75, 211n3; vs. Buddhism, xviii, 20, 231n22; mottos in, 241n25; and new Chan Buddhism, xviii, 19–20. See also Calvinism; Lutheranism; Protestantism Chuanxi lu (Wang Yangming), 109 civil service examination system, 56, 101, 141; degrees in, 89, 237n34; and merchants, 114, 116, 153, 158, 164, 166, 171, 198, 232n26; and social status, 124, 125–26, 135, 136, 138, 139 classics, Confucian, 49, 50, 91, 93, 103, 128, 148–49. See also Book of Changes; Book of History; Book of Poetry; Spring and Autumn Annals Classified Conversations (Zhu Xi), 70–71 collective participation (puqing), xix, 23, 24–25 Commentaries on the Book of Changes, 62

Index

Complete Truth (Quanzhen) Daoism, 29–37, 216n9, 217n16, 218nn32–34; and new Chan Buddhism, xix–xx, 29–31, 32, 36–37; and Purity-Illumination sect, 43, 44; and True Great Way sect, 41–42; work ethic in, xix–xx, 30–31, 33–35, 37, 45 Confucianism: and Buddhism, xxxvi, 13, 63, 154, 229n24; vs. Calvinism, xxxvii, xl, xli, 12, 68, 86; and Daoism, xxxvi, 28; and economic development, 1–2, 6; as function, xxiii, 63, 66; human relations in, 51, 52, 53; inner-worldly asceticism in, xl, 16; and mercantile ethic, ix, xxxvi, 156–57, 161; mottos of, 159, 162, 165, 166, 167; and new Daoism, xx, 41, 43, 44–45, 218n34; this- vs. other-worldly teachings in, 61–76, 212n2; virtues in, xxxiii, xxxiv, xli, 50, 51, 95, 125–26, 155–56; Weber on, viii, xiii, xv, xxxi–xxxii, 12 Confucianism, new, ix, xvii, xxxiii, 8, 47–110; and Calvinism, xxiv–xxvi, 86–88, 87–88, 98–99, 104; and Daoism, 29, 32, 50, 53, 66; divisions in, 100–110; early awakening in, 87, 89, 90, 95, 100; Heaven’s principles in, xxii–xxiv, xxvii, 61–76; honesty in, 173–74; and human rights, xxvii, 123; inner-worldly asceticism in, xx, xxiii–xxv, xxvi, 47, 49, 51, 52, 60, 76, 77–88, 89–99, 94–95; and new Chan Buddhism, xxii, xxii–xxiv, xxxi, 26, 47–48, 49–60, 51, 52–53, 61–67, 71, 75–76, 77, 91, 102, 108–9; vs. predestination, 87–88; “recorded conversations” in, 26, 33, 34–35, 58, 78, 80, 92–93, 100, 126, 159, 161–62, 164, 166, 167, 176; on “securing a livelihood,” xxvi–xxvii, xli, 52, 104, 109–10, 113–23; seriousness in, xxiv, 77–88; social responsibility in, 87, 89–99, 105; and social status, xxvi, 56–57, 95–98, 107, 109, 201; in Song,

•

269

Confucianism, new (continued) xiii, xiv, xxi, xxxii, 26, 58–60, 91, 94, 117–18, 121; work ethic in, 79–84, 81–82, 170 Confucius, 57, 128 Conglin Monastery system, 21, 22, 30, 31, 58–59 Contemporary Confucians (dangdai ruzhe), xxi–xxii culture, popular: and Buddhism, 16; and Confucianism, 162; in Europe, 181, 244n26; and scholars, 180–81, 202; and Three Teachings, 95, 109, 157 “Da Yu mo” (Plan of the Great Yu; Shangshu), 169 “Da zuozhu” (Reply on becoming the master; He Xinyin), 133–34 “Dadao Yanxiangguan bei” (Inscription for the Yanxiang Temple of the True Great Way sect; Zhao Qinglin), 41 Dadian, 62 Dahui Zonggao, 19, 94, 97, 229n24 Dai Liang, 144 Dai Zhen, 73–74, 120, 123, 158, 205, 206 Danyizi, 148 Daodejing (Laozi), 45 Daoheng, 22 Daoism: and Buddhism, 28; and Confucianism, xxxvi, 28; elite patronage of, xx, 44; and merchants, 151, 157; and new Confucianism, 29, 32, 50, 53, 66; occult arts in, xx, 32–33, 42, 177, 216n9; Weber on, xv, xxix, xxxi; world-renouncing spirit of, 15, 16 Daoism, new religious, xvii, xli, 8, 12, 28–46; and Calvinism, xix, xx, 35, 36, 42, 225n27; and Confucianism, xx, 41, 43, 44–45, 108, 218n34; inner-worldly asceticism in, xix, xx, 28–29, 33, 35–37, 37, 41–42, 44–46, 95, 216n9, 216n9; and mercantile ethic, xxxiii, 176–78, 180; monasticism in, 58; and new Chan

270

•

Buddhism, xix–xx, 29–31, 32, 36–37, 37–38, 42, 44, 218n34; popularity of, 44, 45; transmission in, 42–43; work ethic in, xix–xx, xx, 30–31, 33–35, 37, 39, 45, 81, 170. See also Complete Truth (Quanzhen) Daoism; PurityIllumination (Jingming) Daoism; Three Teachings; True Great Way (Zhendadao) Daoism Daoxin, 214n21 Daoxuan, 30 Daoyuan, 214n18 Darby family (Britain), xxxiv, 192 Dazhao, 51 de Bary, Wm. Theodore, xxi Diamond Sutra, 92 Dingjuan shier fangjia canding wanshi buqiuren bokao quanbian (Comprehensive survey and complete compendium toward self-reliance in grand synthesis . . .), 148 “Discussion on Self-interests” (Sishuo; Chen Que), 120–21 Doctrine of the Mean, 62, 174 Du Li tongkao (Comprehensive investigations on reading the Rites; Xu Donghai), 142 “Du shi” (On reading history; Li Shangyin), 169 Duanmu, 185 Dunhuang manuscripts, 17, 21, 213n6 Dupian xinshu (A new collection of swindling cases), 169 economic determinism, xxix, xxx, xlii, 3, 6 economic development: and Calvinism, viii; capitalism in, xv, xxix–xlii, 4–5; and Confucianism, ix, x, 1–2, 6; and inner-worldly asceticism, 7–8; and Lutheranism, 12–13; Marxist stages of, xxix, 2; Ming-Qing, 111, 122, 124; and social status, xxvii, 104, 111, 128

Index

“Editorial” (Max Weber Studies; Metzger; 2014), xiii–xiv, xxxii, xxxix Engels, Friedrich, 3, 4 Erasmus, xxvi, 103 Erpai (Ling Mengchu), 150 Escape from Predicament (Metzger), viii Europe: capitalism in, xxxiv, xl, 4, 192; Christianity in, xviii; Industrial Revolution in, xxx, 5, 192; popular culture in, 181, 244n26; Reformation in, xxxi, 7, 11–12, 20–21, 107. See also West, the Fan Lu, 136–37 Fan Xian, 174 Fan Zhongyan, xxv, 84–85, 94, 95–96, 174, 226n5; and Buddhism, 91–92; and social responsibility, 89–90, 225n3, 229n24 Fang Bao, 161, 162 Fang Bin (Yizhi), 176–77 Fang Lin, xxvii, 124, 125, 126 Fang Shangyin, 116 Faxian, 22 Fei Chun, 248n2 Feng Menglong, 150 filial piety, 40–43, 45, 95, 125–26, 159, 164–65, 175 Franck, Sebastian, 107, 231n22 Franklin, Benjamin, 5 free will, 73, 75 frugality. See industry and frugality “Fu xing shu” (Essays on the recovery of the nature; Li Ao), 62 Fu Yiling, 199, 241n19 Fuchang Zhixin, 228n19 Ganshui xianyuan lu (Record of the magic water at Ganhe and the source of immortality), 31 Gaozu, Emperor (Han; Liu Bang), xxiii, 70, 184 gazetteers, local, 137, 150, 175, 176 Geertz, Clifford, xxxvi

Index

General Economic History (Weber), xxxviii Geng Dingxiang, 195 Great Learning, xxvi, 53, 74, 98, 121, 230n33 Greece, ancient, 4, 15 Gu Jiuhe (Gu Dingchen), 124–25 “Gu lun” (Discussion on merchants; Li Mengyang), 130–31 Gu Xiancheng, 194–95 Gu Yanwu, 122, 123, 136, 172, 189, 191, 205, 206, 242n8 Guan Zhong, 160, 161 Gui Youguang, 128–29, 136, 187 Gui Zhuang, 135–36, 137, 139, 179, 190–91 Guoting lu (Record of things heard from my father; Shilin), 77 Han Bangqi, 135 Han Learning (Hanxue), 111 Han Yu, xxii, 8, 47, 48, 50–58, 219n5; and new Chan Buddhism, 54, 61–62, 66, 219n9 Han Zhen, 106 handbooks, commercial, xxxii, 147–49, 151, 165, 194, 202 He Liangjun, 151–52, 152, 153 He Xinyin, 133–34, 135, 195 Heart Sutra, 45 Heaven: in mercantile ethic, xxxiv, 174–75, 176, 178–79, 181, 202; vs. mind, xxiii, 64; Zhu Xi on, xiii–xiv, xxiv, xxxii Heaven’s principles (tianli), xxii–xxiv, xxvii, xxxi, 61–76, 152; and God, 85; vs. human desires, 68–70, 96, 100, 119–24, 121, 122, 123, 124, 216n16, 234n12; and modern technology, 71–72; and qi, 65, 67–76; and worldly matters, 78–79 Heida shilue jianzheng (Commentary and evidence on the Brief Account of the Affairs of the Black Tartars; Wang Guowei), 143, 238n39

•

271

Henan Cheng shi cuiyan (Pure words of the Chengs of Henan), 64 historical materialism, xxix–xxx, 3, 4, 6–7 Histories of the Tang Dynasty, 49 honesty (cheng), xli, 42, 243n18; in Calvinism, 5, 96, 169; and “low prices, large turnover,” 196–98; of merchants, 165, 172–74, 179; in new Daoism, 44; Weber on, xxxiii, 172–73 “Hong fan” (Grand norm; Shangshu), 101, 102 Hong Kong, 1, 6 Hong Liangji, 141–42, 142 Hongren, 23, 54 Hu Renzhi, 175 Hu Yuan, 58 Huang Bian, 147 Huang Changshou, 240n9 Huang Chongde, 232n26, 240n9 Huang Jinxing (Chin-shing), ix, xl Huang Qiu, 184 Huang Tingjian, 226n5 Huang Weizhi, 149 Huang Wenshang, 232n26 Huang Xingzeng, 137 Huang Zongxi, 108, 122, 151, 186 Huanzhu qinggui (Monastic rules of Huanzhu), 25, 79 Hui Dong, 179, 180 Huihong, 92, 93 Huike, 219n11 Huineng, xviii, 16–21, 23, 26, 29, 38, 47, 78; literacy of, 212n5(b); and Martin Luther, 16, 18; and transmission of the Way, 54, 56–57 Huizong, Emperor (Song), 33 human nature: goodness of, 68–69; and mind, 17, 61; in new Confucianism, xxii, xxxi, 64, 72. See also “innate knowledge of the good” human relations, 42, 45, 51–53, 55, 66–67, 228n24

272

humaneness, xxxii, xli, 41, 50, 51, 65, 83, 155, 185 ideal types (lixiangxing), xv, xix, xxv, xxxvi–xxxviii, 36, 91 immortals (xian), 15, 45, 177, 180 India, 15, 22, 24 individualism, xxvii, 12, 13, 20 Industrial Revolution, xxx, 5, 192 industry and frugality: in capitalism, 182; in Confucianism, xxvii, 118, 169; in new Chan Buddhism, 23, 37, 41; in new Daoism, xix; in Protestant and mercantile ethic, xxx, xxxiii, 5, 169–70, 172, 183; of salt merchants, 170–72; and Way of business, 183. See also work ethic “innate knowledge of the good” (liangzhi), xxvi, 65, 67, 75, 105–8, 110, 126; and merchants, 154, 157 inner-worldly asceticism (rushi kuxing), xiv, 11–46, 228n19, 228n23; in Calvinism, xxxvii, xxxviii, xl, 5, 19, 85; and capitalism, xxx, xxxi; in Christianity, 231n22; in Complete Truth sect, xix, 33, 35, 36–37, 37, 216n9; in Confucianism, xl, 16; and economic development, 7–8; and merchants, 155, 170; in new Chan Buddhism, xx, 15, 16, 19, 21, 26–27, 60, 91, 94–95, 108, 214n18; in new Confucianism, xx, xxiii–xxv, xxvi, 47, 49, 51, 52, 60, 76, 77–88, 89–99, 94–95; in new Daoism, xix, xix, xx, xx, 28, 28–29, 29, 33, 33, 35, 35–37, 36–37, 37, 37, 41–42, 44, 44–46, 45–46, 95, 95, 216n9, 216n9, 216n9, 216n9; and social status, 107; in Three Teachings, xvii, xx, xli; Weber on, xxxvii; and work ethic, 81, 82 “investigation of things,” 98, 105, 106, 230n33 Islam, 12 Israel, 15

•

Index

Japan, xli, 1, 6; Zen (Chan) Buddhism in, 60, 215n26 Ji Hedong (Ji Bu), 178 Jia li (Family Rituals; Zhu Xi), 158 Jian Huimei, xv Jiang Cigong, 196 Jiang Guomao, 237n24 Jiangyou School, 106 Jiao Hong, 179 Jiao Xun, 107–8 Jie (tyrant), 85 Jin lu (Historical record of Jin; Shen Xiaosi), 191 Jin Runai (Guantao), 176, 197 Jin Sheng, 190 Jin Yaoji, xxx jing (seriousness, vocation), xxiv, 77–88, 101 Journey to the West, 218n34 “Junxian lun” (Discussion on prefectures and districts; Gu Yanwu), 205 Kang Hai, 195–96, 201 Kang Le, xv Kang Luan, 195–96 Kant, Immanuel, xxix, 1 kinship, xxxiv, 191–92, 192, 198 Kluge Prize for Lifetime Achievement in the Study of Humanity, vii, xvi–xvii Kublai Khan, 143 Kwong, Charles Yim-tze, ix, x, xi, xii, xx Lai Shengyuan, 148 Laozi, 28, 41 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 73 Li Ao, 47, 48, 62, 221n5, 222n6 Li Daoqian, 31 Li Daqi, 244n3 Li Mengyang, 130–31, 172, 174, 201 Li Qianzhi, 132–33 Li Shangyin, 169 Li Weizhen, 135 Li Xicheng, 38

Index

Li Zhi, 121, 179 Lianchi (Zhu Hong), 180 Liang Huai yanfa zhi (Treatise on the salt regulations in the Huai River area), 171 Liang Qichao, xxvii, 123 Liji, 49 Lin Lingsu, 32–33 Lin Zhao’en, 151, 229n26 Ling Mengchu, 150 Linglanguan ji (Fan Lu), 137 literature, popular, xxxii, 150–51, 239n5 Liu Bang (Han Gaozu), xxiii, 70, 184 Liu Deren, 38, 41 Liu Qizhi (Liu Anshi), 174 Liu Xianting, 150 Liu Yan, 160, 161 Liu Yu, 43 Liu Yuyi, 138 Liu Zijian, 226n5 Liu Zongyuan, 55 Liu Zongzhou, 118 Lotus Sutra, 18 Lü Benzhong, 59 Lü Liuliang, 136, 195 Lu Shusheng, 153, 156 Lü Wen, 55, 56, 58 Lu Wenchao, 164–65 Lu Xiangshan (Lu Jiuyuan), xxvi, 59, 97–99, 100–105, 230n33; background of, 103–4; and Christianity, 231n22; on Heaven’s principles, 65, 66, 67; and Martin Luther, 102, 103; on original mind, 75, 75, 101, 103, 230n2; on profit, 101, 230n2; and Wang Yangming, 105, 232n26; vs. Zhu Xi, 100–104 Lu You, 139–40, 144 Lu Zishou, 59 Lü Zuqian, 59 Lucheng yaolan (Essential information on routes), 148 Luo Rufang, 108 Luther, Martin, xviii, xxvi, 12, 16, 18, 19, 20, 102, 103

•

273

Lutheranism, 12–13, 88 Lu-Wang School, 65, 68, 104; vs. ChengZhu School, 99, 100–110. See also Lu Xiangshan; Wang Yangming Ma Yu, 33, 35, 36, 45 management practices: with Confucian flair (ru yi), xxxii–xxxiii, 153, 156; and Confucian learning, xxxiv, xli, 147, 153, 155, 158, 160, 164, 166, 194–95; and “handing down a legacy” (chuangye chuitong), xxxiv, 183–84, 185, 202, 244n3; innovation in, 199, 203, 241n19; “low prices, large turnover” in, xxxv, 195–98, 199; and partner-assistants, xxxiv, 188–94; rationality in, xxxiii– xxxv, xxxviii, 182, 182, 194, 194–96, 196, 198, 199, 240n12, 240n12 Mao Qiling, 234n12 Marshall, Gordon, xxxvii, xxxviii Marx, Karl, 2, 4, 4–5, 8 Marxism, xiv–xv, xxix, xlii, 1–9, 96 “Maxims for Managing the Family” (Zhu Bolu), 84 Mencius, 27, 53, 54, 128; on human nature, 69, 72; and new Confucianism, 65, 77, 84, 91 Meng Shen, 166 mercantile ethic, ix, xv, xvii, xxvi–xxix, 8, 168–81, 200–206; and actual conduct, 168–69; and Confucianism, ix, xxxvi, 156–57, 161; and new Daoism, xxxiii, 176–78, 180; and partner-assistants (huoji), 188–92; and Protestant ethic, xxx, xxxiii, xxxiii, 5, 169–70, 172, 183; and Way of business, 13, 182–99 merchants, xxxviii, 111–206; and Confucianism, xxxii–xxxiii, 147–67; and examination system, 153, 158, 164, 166, 171, 237n34; vs. farmers, 132–35, 138, 149, 186, 196; and gentry (shenshang), 141, 200–201, 248n2; and government, xxxix, 200, 203–6,

274

•

246n27, 249n8; guild (gong hang), 173; and high interest rates, 143; of Huizhou (Xin’an), xxxiii, xxxv, 129, 138, 151, 157–59, 170–72, 175, 189–90, 201, 242n8; litigation by, 170, 172, 242n8; and new Chan Buddhism, 154, 155, 157, 176, 178, 180; and new Confucianism, xxvi, 50, 82, 95–96, 96, 104, 106–7, 106–7, 109, 109–10; and new Daoism, xxxiii, 37, 176–78, 180; perspective of, 201–2; philanthropy of, xxviii, 114, 115, 155–56, 160, 200, 205, 206; prejudice against, xxviii, 131, 137, 146; purchase of titles by, 141–42, 204; reputations of, 173, 186–88, 202; salt, 144, 145, 152, 153, 164–65, 167, 170–71, 203–4, 232n26, 237n24; and scholars, ix–x, ix–x, xxvi–xxvii, xxviii, xxxix–xl, 9, 96, 104, 116, 116, 124–46, 124–46, 147, 158–59, 163, 183, 184–85, 185–86, 193, 194, 198–99, 200–201, 201–2, 205, 232n26; and “securing a livelihood” (zhisheng), xxvi–xxvii, xli, 52, 104, 109–10, 113–23, 113–23, 115–23, 124, 137, 154–55, 232n26, 233n4; self-esteem of, 144, 183, 186–87; of Shanxi, xxxiii, 135, 170–71, 174, 183; social activities of, 172, 204; social status of, xviii, xxvi–xxix, xxxix–xl, 9, 104, 114, 200; Taiwanese, xl–xli; and textual criticism, 149–50; Western, xxxiv, 183, 192, 201. See also mercantile ethic Metzger, Thomas, viii, xiii–xiv, xxxii, xxxix Mikhailovsky, N. K., 4 mind: Buddhism on, 63, 64–65, 76, 79, 219n9; and inner nature, 61–62, 64; learning of, 126–27; original, xviii, 16–17, 20, 75, 101, 103, 125, 230n2, 230n2; and principle, 66–67, 73–74, 74–75; School of, xxi, 47 Ming dynasty: economic development in, 111, 122, 124; loyalty to, 136, 179,

Index

237n24; mercantile ethic in, 168–81; merchants in, 114, 129–32, 133, 136, 141, 145–46, 147–67, 200–206, 201; new Confucianism in, 116, 119, 121; social status in, 109, 122–23, 125 Ming-Qing transition, 116, 119, 122–23, 136–38, 154 Mingru xuean (Records of Ming Confucian scholars; Huang Zongxi), 106 Miyazaki Ichisada, 226n5 Monastic Rules of Baizhang. See Baizhang qinggui monasticism: and Baizhang Huaihai, xviii, 21, 21–23, 23, 27, 31, 42, 58, 59–60, 214n21, 215n26; collective participation in, xix, 23, 24–25; and Huineng, 18–19; in India, 22; and new Chan Buddhism, xviii, 20; and new Confucianism, 58–59; work ethic in, xix, 23–24, 27, 30, 42, 84, 214n21, 217n16 Mou Zongsan, xxi Nakamura Hajime, 214n21 Nanquan Puyuan, 19 Neo-Confucianism, xx–xxi, 47 Neo-Daoism, xx New Confucians, xxi–xxii New England, 5, 6 Nianpu (Chronology of his life; Lu Xiangshan), 102 Nongzheng quanshu (Encyclopedia of agricultural policies; Xu Guangqi), 146 Okuzaki Hiroshi, 218n34 “On the Teacher” (Han Yu), 54–57 “one day no work, one day no food,” xix, 23, 24, 27, 30, 42, 84, 213n18, 214n21, 217n16 Ouyang Xiu, xxii, 49, 89, 132, 167, 225n3 Pai’an jingqi (Second collection of Striking the Table in Amazement at the Wonders), 138

Index

Pan Mingduo, 175 Pan Tingzhou, 185 Pangyun, 25–26 Panshan yulu (Recorded conversations of Panshan; Wang Zhijin), 35 Parsons, Talcott, 2 partner-assistant (huoji) system, xxxiv, 188–92, 193, 197, 198, 203, 245n22 Paul, Saint, 26 People’s Republic of China (PRC), xv, xvii, xxi Platform Sutra, 17, 20, 21, 23 principle: and mind, 66–67, 73–75; and qi, 65, 67–76, 70–73, 223n36, 223n36; School of (lixue), xxi, 47. See also Heaven’s principles profit (li): Lu Xiangshan on, 101, 230n2; and merchants, 104, 127, 130, 131, 138, 155, 205; vs. righteousness, ix, 96, 97, 100, 156, 174, 230n2; and “securing a livelihood,” 115; Wang Yangming on, 109 Protestant (Puritan) ethic, viii, xxii, xxx, xxxiii, xxxvi, 6, 42, 173; and actual conduct, 168, 169; as anticapitalist, 229n29; “calling” in, 182, 183; and capitalism, xxxviii, xl, xli, 96, 203; as inner-worldly asceticism, xxxvii, 5; and kinship, xxxiv, 192; on labor, xix, 36, 85; and new Confucianism, 47, 83. See also Calvinism Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, The (Weber), viii, xxix–xxx, xxxvi, xxxvii, 1–7, 173; sources for, xxxviii–xxxix Protestantism: “calling” in, xx, xxiv, xxx, 5, 12, 19, 26, 46, 81, 85, 182, 183, 211n3; vs. Calvinism, 13; God in, xviii, 12, 19–20, 73, 75, 85, 87, 98; and new Chan Buddhism, xviii, 19–20; and new Confucianism, 96; and new Daoism, 46 Pu Shougeng, 143

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275

public interest (gong), xxvii, xli; vs. self-interest (si), ix, 121–23 Puritanism. See Calvinism Purity-Illumination (Jingming) Daoism, 29, 42, 43–44, 45, 218n34

righteousness/integrity (yi), 50, 51, 78; of merchants, 125, 126, 130, 154, 159, 166, 185, 188; and profit, ix, 96, 97, 100, 156, 174, 230n2, 230n2 “rights,” Western concept of, xxvii, 123 Rituals of Zhou, 205 Rome, ancient, 4 Ruan Bi, 178 Ruan Changgong, 183–84, 193 Russia, 4

qi (vital energy), xxiii, 158; and principle, 65, 67–76, 223n36 Qian Daxin, 117, 119, 123, 165–66, 167 Qian Qianyi, 185 Qin Qiren, 187 Qin Xiaoyou, 144 “Qin xue” (On industrious learning; Zhang Zai), 82 Qin Yu, 144 Qing dynasty: economic development in, 111, 122, 124; mercantile ethic in, 168–81; merchants in, 114–15, 133–35, 141, 147–67, 200, 200–206, 201; new Confucianism in, 116, 118, 119; social changes in, 125, 201 Qingyuan Xingsi, 93, 214n18 Qisong, 17, 66, 67, 94, 219n9, 221n6, 228n24 Qiu Chuji, 33–37, 45 Qiu Zhilong, 217n16 “Qu Fengweng muzhiming” (Epitaph for Qu Lianbi; Qian Daxin), 165–66 Qu Lianbi, 165–66 Quan Zuwang, 116–17, 119, 123 Quanzhen yuanfan qinggui (Fundamental paradigms and monastic rules of the Complete Truth sect), 31

Samuelsson, Kurt, xxxiv, xxxvii Santai wanyong zhengzong (A comprehensive and official guide to the three surveillance agencies; Yu Wentai), 148 Sanyan (Feng Menglong), 150 scholar-officials/literati (shi): and examination system, 124, 125–26, 135, 136, 138, 139, 237n34; and merchants, ix–x, xxvi–xxvii, xxviii, xxxix–xl, 9, 96, 104, 116, 124–46, 147, 158–59, 163, 183, 184–85, 185–86, 193, 194, 198–99, 200–201, 201–2, 205, 232n26; and new Chan Buddhism, 37, 57–58, 62, 108; and new Confucianism, xxvi, xxvi, 50, 72, 97, 100–103, 102, 103, 105, 105–8, 107, 108, 115, 115; perspective of, 201, 226n5; and popular culture, 180–81, 202; and “securing a livelihood,” 109–10, 113–23; social responsibility of, xxv, 89–90, 91, 229n24; social status of, 95, 104, 124–46 School of Mind (xinxue), xxi, 47 School of New Learning (xinxue), xxi School of Principle (lixue), xxi, 47 self-cultivation: and merchants, xxxiii, 161; in new Chan Buddhism, 61; in new Confucianism, xxii, xxv, xxvi, 63, 72, 77, 77–78, 80; in new Daoism, 35, 217n16; vs. oversleeping, 216n16; vs. predestination, 87–88

Reformation, xxxi, 7, 11–12, 20–21, 107 religion, popular: honesty in, 174; and merchants, 151; and morality tracts, 179–80; occult arts in, xx, 32–33, 42, 177, 216n9; and scholars, 180–81; Western vs. Chinese, 202 Religion of China, The (Weber), viii, xxxv, 1, 8, 12, 172–73 Renzong, Emperor (Song), 89

276

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Index

self-interest (si), ix, xxvii, 124; vs. public good (gong), 121–23; and “securing a livelihood,” 120–21 seriousness. See jing Shangcheng yilan (A survey of commercial routes; Tao Chengqing), 148 Shanggu bianlan (Convenient reading for merchants; Wu Zhongfu), 148 Shangshu (Book of history), 50, 101, 169 She Zhaoding, 162 “Shejun muzhiming” (Epitaph for Mr. She; Fang Bao), 162 Shen Baiwu, 237n24 Shen Fangxian, 162–63, 164, 165 Shen Wencai, 196 Shen Xiaosi, 188 Shen Yao: on four categories, 127, 128, 129, 137, 146, 166; on merchants, 156, 160, 186, 205, 206; and “securing a livelihood,” 113–15, 115, 117, 118, 119, 123 Shenhui, 21, 51 Shenhui yulu (Recorded conversations of Shenhui), 21 Shenxiu, 57 “Shi Runze Tanque yuyou” (Shi Runze meets a friend at Tanque), 150 Shi wo zhouxing (Show me the routes around the empire), 148 Shibusawa Eiichi, x Shigeta Atsushi, 141 Shiji (Records of the Grand Historian; Sima Qian), 134, 155 Shilin, 77 Shimada Kenji, 128 Shishang yaolan (Essential reading for scholars and merchants; Danyizi), 148, 204–5, 248n2 “Shu Pan Liefu beiwen hou” (Written at the end of the tomb inscription for chaste woman Pan; Chen Que), 162 Shu Zungang, 239n5 Sima Guang, 174, 243n18 Sima Qian, 134, 185, 186, 187

Index

Singapore, 1, 6 social evolution, xxix, 3 social status: and Cheng-Zhu vs. Lu-Wang Schools, 100–110; and economic development, xxvii, 104, 111, 128; and examination system, 124, 125–26, 135, 136, 138, 139; four categories of, xxvii–xxviii, 9, 95–96, 105–6, 113, 124–46, 163, 166, 186, 201; of merchants, xviii, xxvi–xxix, xxxix–xl, 9, 104, 114, 200; in Ming dynasty, 109, 122–23, 125; in Ming-Qing transition, 122–23; in new Chan Buddhism, 56–57, 96–97, 108–9; in new Confucianism, xxvi, 56–57, 95–98, 107, 109, 201; of scholars, 95, 104, 124–46; after Song dynasty, 113–14; and Wang Yangming, 104–10; and work ethic, 82, 85; in Yuan dynasty, 142–44 Socialism: Utopian and Scientific (Engels), 3 Song dynasty: economic development in, 104, 111; merchants in, 114, 132, 139, 141, 201; new Confucianism in, xiii, xiv, xxi, xxxii, 26, 58–60, 91, 94, 117–18, 121; occult arts in, 32–33 Song Gaoseng zhuan (Biographies of eminent monks in the Song dynasty; Zanning), 23 Song Lian, 40 South Korea, 1, 6 Spring and Autumn Annals, 50, 55, 194 Su Guoxun, xv Su Song, xxi, 82, 224n12 Sun Chunyang, 198–99 Sun Dongzhuang, 187 Sun Yuanru, 197 Supreme Unity (Taiyi) Daoism, 29, 42–43 Taihan ji (Collected works of Wang Daokun), 176, 189, 191 Taishang ganying pian (Book of divine responses to human conduct), 44, 45, 179–80

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277

“Taishigong xuxun” (Precepts bequeathed by the grand historian; Lu You), 139, 141 Taiwan, xvi, xvii, 1, 6 Taizhou School, 106, 108, 127, 128 Tang dynasty, 31, 201; Buddhism in, 47, 58; Confucianism in, 49, 55–56, 61, 62, 79, 90; histories of, xxii, 49, 167; and religious Daoism, 28, 29 Tang Situi, 97 Tang Zhen, 116 Tao Chengqing, 148 Tao Zhengxiang, 197 Tao Zhu (Fan Li), 156, 159 Tawney, R. H., 229n29 Terada Takanobu, 147, 148 textual criticism, 149–50 Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism), xxxvi, xxxviii, xxxix, xlii, 13, 28; inner-worldly asceticism in, xvii, xx, xli; and mercantile ethic, xlii, 176, 179, 180, 202; and new Daoism, 45, 218n34; and popular culture, 95, 109, 157; union of (Sanjiao heyi), 95, 109, 151, 229n25; work ethic in, xvii–xviii, 8–9 Tiananmen Square Incident (1989), xvii Tianxia lucheng (Routes across the empire; Chen Qi), 148 “Tomb Inscription for Zhuo Haichuang” (Wu Weiye), 156 Tongsu bian (Compendium of common and popular sayings; Zhai Hao), 167 True Great Way (Zhendadao) Daoism, 29, 37–42, 44, 44–45, 218nn32–34 Tu Long, 179

Wang Chongyang (Wang Zhongfu), 29, 30, 33, 34, 35, 37, 45 Wang Dalai, 161–62 Wang Daokun, 170–71, 170–72, 176–79, 177–78, 179, 189, 191, 201, 202; on scholars and merchants, 131–32, 138, 144–45, 183–87 Wang Dong, 127–28 Wang Fengling, 158–59 Wang Gen, 106–7, 127–28, 152 Wang Hong, 130 Wang Huizu, 180, 181 Wang Ji (Wang Longxi), 67, 108, 152, 154 Wang Laipin, 135 Wang Pan, 31, 34 Wang Shizhen, 190 Wang Tongbao, 177–78 Wang Wan, 159, 160, 197 Wang Xian (Wang Wenxian), 130–31, 133, 174–75 Wang Xianzhi, 130 Wang Yangming (Wang Shouren), xxi, 8, 111, 115, 121, 130, 230n33, 231n22; on four categories, 124, 126–27, 128, 137, 163; on Heaven’s principles, xxvii, 65, 234n12; on “innate knowledge of the good,” xxvi, 65, 67, 75, 105–8, 110, 126, 154, 157; and Lu Xiangshan, 105, 232n26; on merchants, xxvii–xxviii, 116, 146, 152, 154, 157, 186; and new Chan Buddhism, 107, 108–9; on “securing a livelihood,” 117, 119; on social responsibility, 98, 99; and social status, 104–10, 109; vs. Zhu Xi, xxvi, 105, 107, 107–8, 110 Wang Yun, 32, 33, 37–38, 44, 216n9, 216n16 Wang Zhijin, 34 Wang Zhong, 142 Wangshi tong zongpu (Comprehensive genealogical records of the Wang clan), 131–32 Wanyan Linqing, 200–201

Ui Hakuju, 212n5(b) Wang Anshi, xxi, xxv, 92–94, 93–94, 225n27, 228nn19–23 Wang Bi, xx Wang Canping, 161

278

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Index

Way, the, 13, 50, 66, 126, 128; of the teacher, 54–58; transmission of, xxii, 53–55, 57, 58 Way of business (gu dao), xxxiv, xxxv, 13, 182–99, 202, 203 Weber, Max: in China, xiv–xv; on Chinese merchants, xxxiii, 172–73, 173; on Confucianism, xii, xiii–xiv, xxix, 67–68, 72; critiques of, 203, 229n29; ideal type of, xv, xix, xxv, xxxvi– xxxviii, 36, 91; on management practices, 192, 194, 195; vs. Marxism, xiv–xv, xxix, 1–9, 1–9; Metzger on, viii, xiii–xiv, xxxii, xxxix; and new Buddhism, 26; and new Confucianism, viii, 47, 73; Orientalism of, xv; on predestination, 86, 87; on Protestant ethic, xix, xxii, 168, 169; on rationality, 182, 240n12; on Reformation, 11–12; on work ethic, xix, 36, 85; Yü Ying-shih on, ix, xviii, xxviii, xxix–xlii, xxxv. See also Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, The; Religion of China, The “Weber’s Perspective and ‘Confucian Ethics,’ an Explanatory Preface” (Yü Ying-shih), xxxv Wei Xi, 196 Weishan Lingyou, 26, 36, 57 West, the: capitalism in, xxx, xxxiv, xxxv, xl, 4, 6, 7, 13, 192, 201; vs. China, xxxv, xli; concept of “rights” in, xxvii, 123; influence of, xxxiii, xxxvi, xli, xlii; merchants in, xxxiv, 183, 192, 201; popular culture in, 181, 202, 244n26 White Deer Grotto Academy lecture (Lu Xiangshan), 101, 102 women, 97, 158, 162, 190 work ethic: in Complete Truth sect, 30–31, 33–34, 35, 37, 45; in mercantile ethic, xvii–xviii, xxxiii; of merchants, 169–70; in monasticism, xix, 23–24, 27, 30, 42, 84, 214n21, 217n16; in new Chan Buddhism, xviii–xix, 23–25, 95, 170,

Index

214n21; in new Confucianism, 79–80, 79–84, 83, 84, 170; in new Daoism, xix–xx, xx, 30–31, 33–35, 37, 39–40, 42, 45, 81, 170; and seriousness, 81–82; in Supreme Unity sect, 44; in Three Teachings, xvii–xviii, 8–9; in True Great Way sect, 39–40, 42; and wasting time, 36, 83–85; Weber on, xix, 36, 85 Wright, Arthur, 91 Wu Cheng, 38 Wu feng lu (Record of the Wu ethos; Huang Xingzeng), 137 Wu Huoshi (Wu Ho-su), ix, x, xl–xli Wu Kangzhai (Wu Yubi), 84, 152 Wu Shiying, 187–88, 190 Wu Weiye, 153–54, 155, 156, 158, 185–86, 193 Wu Xiu, 148 Wu Yubi (Wu Kangzhai), 84, 152 Wu Zhongfu, 148 Wudeng huiyuan (Synthesis of the five “lamps”), 23–24, 26, 52 Wuke Huijun shiyi jingshu shimin bianyong tongkao zazi (Fifth collection of Huizhou Prefecture’s guide to the meaning of the classics . . .), 148–49 Xi Benjiu, 159 Xi Benzhen, xxxiv, 193–94 Xi Ming, 135, 183 Xi Qitu, 159–60, 241n19 “Xi Sheren muzhiming” (Epitaph for drafter Xi; Wang Wan), 159 Xia Rongda, 144 Xiang Yu, xxiii, 70 Xiao Baozhen, 43 Xiao Daoxi, 43 Xiao Zhichong, 43 Xiaojing (Classic of filial piety), 45, 159 Xie Guozhen, 148 Xie Shangcai (Xie Liangzuo), 77–78 Xie Yuhui, 45

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279

Xie Zhaozhe, 170, 171, 172 “Ximing” (Western inscription; Zhang Zai), 95 Xin Tangshu (New history of the Tang dynasty; Ouyang Xiu), xxii, 167 Xin’an Xiuning mingzu zhi (Gazetteer of the prominent clans in the Xin’an and Xiuning region), 183, 184 Xingshi hengyan (Lasting words to awaken the world), 150 Xinke zengding zhiyi jingshu shishi tongkao zazi (A new and expanded guide to the meaning of the classics . . . ; Huang Weizhi), 149 Xu Donghai, 142 Xu Gaoseng zhuan (Supplement to Biographies of Eminent Monks), 30 Xu Guangqi, 146 “Xu laopu yifen chengjia” (Old servant Xu’s indignation restores the family), 150 Xu Luzhai (Xu Heng), xxvii, 109, 115–19 Xu Zhi, 185 Xu Zhongyuan, 199 Xuanzong, Emperor (Tang), 31 Xude lu (Records in preservation of virtue; Xi Qitu), 160 Xue Wenqing (Xue Xuan), 152 Xuefeng Yicun, 92–93, 94, 228n19 Xuejiao Yuanxin, 154–55 Xun Ji, 22 Xunzi, 69, 72, 74

Yao Sui, 143 Yaoshan Weiyan, 62, 222n6 Ye Mao, 191 Ye Sheng, 139, 150 Yili, 49 Yin Zhiping, 33, 35, 216n16, 217n16 Yinzong, 57 Yitong lucheng tuji (Comprehensive routes: Maps and sketches; Huang Bian), 147–48 Yongzheng, Emperor (Qing), 138 Yu Ji, 38 Yu Wentai, 148 Yü Ying-shih: biography of, xvi–xvii; on Weber, ix, xviii, xviii, xxviii, xxix–xlii, xxix–xlii, xxxv. See also Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen Yu Zongxian, xxx Yuan Cai, xxviii, 140–41, 144 “Yuan Dao” (An inquiry on the Way; Han Yu), 50, 52–53 Yuan dynasty, 114, 142–45, 146, 201 Yuan Haowen, xix, 29, 31, 44 Yuan Jue, 30 “Yuan xing” (An inquiry on human nature; Han Yu), 61 Yuchuan yuan (Predestined relationship of the jade bracelet), 45 “Yueyang lou ji” (In commemoration of the Yueyang Tower; Fan Zhongyan), 90 Yun Jing, 134, 135 Yunmen Wenyan, 52, 66, 93 Yunqi fahui (Collection of the Dharma writings of Master Yunqi; Zhu Hong), 180

Yan Gengwang, 58 Yan Sungong, 135–36 Yang Jian (Yang Cihu), 67 Yang Lien-sheng, xvi Yang Weizhen, 144, 145 Yang Xiong, 69 Yangshan, 26 Yao (sage-king), 85 Yao Nai, 137, 188 Yao Shu, 143

Zang, Don S., xiv Zanning, 23, 213n18 Zen Buddhism. See Buddhism, new Chan Zen Buddhism, Japanese, 60, 215n26 Zeng Gong, 93 Zeng Guofan, 82

280

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Index

Zengzi, 91 Zhai Hao, 27, 167 Zhan Ganquan, 152, 153 Zhan Ruoshui, 167 Zhang Ce, 160–61 Zhang Han, 137, 186 Zhang Jinsong (Shiyi), xxxii, 153, 156 Zhang Juzheng, 152, 186 Zhang Lüxiang, 163–64 Zhang Weigong (Zhang Jun), 97 Zhang Zai, xxv, 63, 82, 95, 97 Zhao Jishi, 157–58 Zhao Qinglin, 41 Zhao Zonghai, 188 Zhen Dexiu, 179 Zhezhong School, 106, 108 “Zhi xin” (On governing the mind; Qisong), 67 Zhiming suanfa (Treatise on arithmetic), 194 Zhiming suanfa zongtong (Systematic treatise on arithmetic), 194 Zhiyuan, 63 Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen (The Religious Ethic and Mercantile Spirit in Early Modern China; Yü Ying-shih), xiv, xvii–xxix; part I of, xviii–xx, 8, 11–46; part II of, xx–xxvi, 8, 47–110; part III of, xxvi–xxxix, 8, 111–206; translation of, ix–xii, xx–xxi “Zhongshu zuocheng Yao Wenxiangong shendao bei” (Tomb inscription for Yao Shu, assistant director of the left in the Secretariat; Yao Sui), 143 Zhou Dunyi, 63 Zhou Hui, 33 Zhou Shidao, 164–65

Index

Zhoujun Tanzhi jiazhuan (Biography of the family of Zhou Shidao; Lu Wenchao), 164 Zhouli, 49 Zhu Bolu (Yongchun), 84 Zhu Gui, 180, 181 Zhu Hong (Lianchi), 180 Zhu Shiying, 92, 93 Zhu Xi: and academies, 59; on activity and quietude, xxxiii, 79–81; on Buddhism, 52, 64, 96–97, 221n5; and Chen Liang, ix–x, xxv; on control of cosmos, xiii–xiv; on Fan Zhongyan, 89–90; and Great Learning, xxvi, 98; on Han Yu, 61–62; on Heaven, xiii–xiv, xxiv, xxxii, xxxii; on Heaven’s principles, xxiii, xxiv, xxvii, 66; and Huizhou merchants, 157–59; on human desires, 69–70; vs. Lu Xiangshan, 100–104; on mind and inner nature, 61, 67; on new Chan Buddhism, 26–27, 60; and principle, xxi, 70–73, 73, 223n36; on self-cultivation, 77–78; on social responsibility, 87, 99, 225n3; on Su Song, 224n12; vs. Wang Yangming, xxvi, 105, 107, 107–8, 110; and wasting time, 83, 84; and work ethic, 82, 83, 85, 86, 115, 117 Zhu Yizun, 136–37 Zhu Yuanzhang (Ming emperor), 145 Zhuchuang suibi (Casual notes from a bamboo window; Zhu Hong), 180 Zhuo Erkang, 155 Zhuo Yu, 153–54, 155, 157 Zhuo Zuoju, 156 Zigong, 185 Zuozhuan (Zuo’s commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals), 184

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281